In Case of Rapture
by shorelinekeehl
Summary: Mihael Keehl has had a hell of a life. Rated for gore, drugs, murder, cursing and other "adult themes". Manga canon. A biography, of sorts.
1. Prologue

A crumpled twenty fell into Mihael's hand, and his faceless patron disappeared around the corner to join the sea of ghosts. He stuffed the bill into his pocket quickly, wiping the remnants of his customer from his lips. Twenty could buy quite a bit, but now was not the time. It was getting late. He glanced at the darkening sky before returning to his box behind the dumpster. It seemed like it would rain tonight.

Curling up against the cardboard, Mihael felt a pang of regret. He'd been so naïve to think his previous situation a nightmare. At least he had food and shelter, then. Now, nothing was certain, except his death.

_One day, I won't be here... not that there's much to wake up to, anyway. Would I really miss another day with these brainless, heartless fuckers that call themselves human? Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die in my sleep... painlessly... it's only been a week, and I'm already struggling to survive... I'm so weak... worthless, just like father said...  
><em>

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him back into reality, and he pressed himself as far into shadow as he could.

"You sure it was here?" a deep voice came from his right. Mihael quieted his breathing, and attempted to melt into nothing.

"Yeah. Pretty little blonde thing, had a really well-trained mouth..." another voice replied. He smirked despite himself. Maybe he was good at _something_. The footsteps continued, seemingly from all directions. They paused now and again, presumably to listen for any signs of life. As if he was that stupid. He trusted one man to stop at satisfying his own needs, but any more than one, and anything could happen. Only an idiot would run out to greet them, mouth open expectantly.

"He's not here, you prick. You should've just stayed and called me."

"Wait..." There was a short silence, and it seemed like a good time to abandon the box and make a run for it.

"Hello, there." A face appeared in front of him, leering victoriously. Mihael acted on instinct and spit in his face, bursting from the box like a wild animal and sprinting away. He hadn't gone twenty feet when a hand grabbed his hair, effectively stopping him. He fell back, hissing in pain as the hand continued pulling viciously.

"You were right, he is pretty... let's have a look at those lips, kid.. They're going to be getting a lot of use." The man forced Mihael to his knees, still gripping his hair tightly. He wriggled, trying not to panic as he went through possible escape routes. Kick the guy in the balls and bolt, wait until his guard was down, then bite him...

A ripping noise from behind him sapped the thoughts from Mihael's head. His back was cold, for his shirt had been forcefully removed. Soon, he felt rough fingers working at his pants. A giant shiver rippled through his body as the chilly air whipped against his bare skin. With no other alternative, he let out a blood curdling scream. Damn it all if he died anonymously, with no one but these fuckers to remember him. He flailed his arms around, hitting whatever he could with whatever strength he had. Then, all was black.

/

"...abrasions on his scalp, but nothing serious. You got there just in time."

"So, he's set to go, then?"

"Yes, but preferably when he wakes up..."

Mihael groaned softly, and cracked one eye open. The florescent lights of a hospital greeted his cornea.

A flurry of movement was discernible above him. He blinked slowly. A blonde woman in a nurse outfit smiled warmly at him. He stared for a moment before sitting up. She looked a bit surprised, but gave him room. He tentatively stretched his limbs, feeling for any possible injuries. Aside from a slight headache, everything seemed fine... so he could flee, if this new state of affairs proved dangerous.

"You're in the hospital. Don't worry, you're healthy, thanks to this nice man." The woman gestured to an elder man. He extended his hand good-naturedly.

"I'm Quillish Wammy. Nice to meet you, Mihael." _He wants me to shake that? It could've been anywhere, could do anything to me. He's a lot bigger. I can't give him any advantages._ _And how does he know my name? _Mihael glared up at him coldly.

"Thanks, for all this, but I have no intention of repaying you with any _services_, so if you don't mind..." He lowered his feet to the floor, chewing the inside of his cheek._ Time to get out of here... _

He was halfway to the door when a firm hand held his shoulder and spun him around.

"...please do not insult me. Not everyone over the age of twenty is a monster. Now, Mihael, I know about your situation, and I'd like to give you the opportunity to change it."

"I already told you, I'm not interested!" This wasn't good. He had no idea where he was inside the hospital, let alone which hospital it was. Judging from the noises outside the room, there were plenty of people milling around, which would make it hard to escape without anyone noticing... if he managed to overthrow the old man, that is. He glanced to the window, but the shades were closed. No idea which floor he was on...

"Fourth floor. Not an advisable jumping distance, but there's first time survivors for everything..."

Mihael turned sharply to eye the newcomer. Tall, pale, with a mop of black hair strewn about his panda-like face.

"What?" he frowned. _Mind readers? What kind of sick joke is this?_

"Wammy, if you could..." the strange man slouched into the room and settled himself onto a chair, chewing on a thumbnail.

"Of course." Wammy left, closing the door behind him. All of Mihael's adrenaline had disappeared, and he suddenly didn't feel like running anywhere. He felt slightly less threatened by the panda-man, anyway.

They silently studied each other, and as the minutes passed, more than a little curiosity shone through the raven-haired man's dark eyes.

"Mihael, is it?" _The fuck? Does everyone know my name?_ "I'm Ryuzaki. I work with the man outside, Quillish."

"Oh." There wasn't anything else to say to that.

"We found you in an alley not too far from here, about to be raped by two adult hooligans. Does that sound familiar?" Ryuzaki stated bluntly.

A nod and a suppressed shudder._ Don't give the bastard too much to work with... he could turn it on you..._

Another small silence. Mihael looked at the ground, starting to feel uneasy with the unblinking orbs trained upon him.

"Twelve years old. Slovenian immigrant. Your father died just recently, and your mother... you never knew her. Is that correct?"

"My mother was a whore. I'm glad I didn't know her." He spat angrily, balling his hands into fists. _Who is this guy? Where does he get off, telling me my own life story?_

"That was not the question, I'm afraid. But, as you've volunteered the information, is that why offering your body for money seemed like a good idea?" A completely nonchalant question, like asking about the weather.

"What the hell do you know? Go fuck yourself." Mihael stormed towards the door, but it was locked. "Let me out!" he yelled.

"I'm trying to treat you like an adult, because I know of your intelligence, but your actions suggest you're more of a child-like figure. Is that how I should approach you?" Ryuzaki seemed to be expressing a human condition, at last. Annoyance distorted his face only slightly. "If you'd like, Quillish and I will leave you to your devices, with a hospital bill to pay off in the future. We will bother you no longer, and you can continue to serve the needs of others to survive." Panda-man stood up casually, hands deep in his pockets.

_What do I do? I don't want to live on the streets, I don't, I don't, I don't... but what if these people just want to hurt me? They seem to know me, but I know jack about them... _

"I..." he choked out, trying to form his uncertainty into words. Ryuzaki surveyed him calmly, waiting. "What is it... exactly... that you want?"

"Well, since you asked, I suppose it would be within reason to tell you why we brought you here. Aside from being decent people, willing to help a small child in a dangerous situation, we were made aware of your intellectual standings quite some time ago. You attended a private school, thanks to your father's connections, and managed to remain top of your class for the entirety of four years. This has not gone unnoticed. Quillish runs an orphanage for gifted children, and we feel it would be in your best interest to consider a more... stable life." Ryuzaki had returned to his chair, and was watching Mihael's expression.

_An orphanage? I'm an orphan, now? Gifted children... my teachers always said I was a little sharper than most... but my father told me I was a waste of brain matter... is there a way to tell? Some kind of test? Pass or fail?_

"Are... what's the orphanage like?" He ended up saying.

"It's quite nice, if I say so myself. Only a hundred or so children, though, that may be a lot, to you. There are classes each day, not unlike your former school. Plenty of free time, space, and resources to allow you to grow as an individual. It is my hope that you will want for nothing, but I cannot guarantee certain things, like the purchasing of a country. There are placement tests every month, to make sure you remain in the correct classes for your intelligence and involvement level. Trips to town made each weekend, for any shopping or sightseeing you feel the need to execute. And, above all, a place to stay. You'd have a roommate, and excuse my bias, but I feel that is an acceptable price for a warm bed, regular meals, and a chance to become anything your heart could want."

Mihael was stunned. After the first few sentences, he'd pinched his arm, just to be sure. Now, he hesitantly walked forward, in a straight line. From giving blowjobs on the streets to being offered a chance to be... well, anyone. _Someone_.

_There's a catch. All of this... but my roommate is an abusive alcoholic. I have to work the debt off later. I die at age eighteen. There's-_

"I have a limited amount of time, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop questioning my motives and make a choice. Stay on the streets, or come with us. If it helps, I could tell you that you have nothing to lose." Ryuzaki stood once more, slowly making his way to the door. He knocked gently, and it opened at once.

Wammy's face appeared, looked from Mihael to Ryuzaki, and disappeared again. The door slid open a little further, to allow panda-man room to leave. He didn't turn back, didn't even acknowledge Mihael's existence.

_I have nothing to lose... if I stay here, I'll just end up with more sick rapists... if I go with them... there's a chance the orphanage is real, and I could live a worthwhile life... and if it's not real?_

A few more seconds passed before Mihael darted out the door and followed the retreating backs of his saviors.

* * *

><p><strong>This story is going to be manga canon. It'll detail everything from Mello's arrival at Wammy's to his death, including Mafia life, and, of course, Matt. Rated T for swearing and adult themes in this chapter, <span>will<span> be M later on. **

**This was the previous summary: **

**"From living in riches to degrading himself on the streets for survival, Mihael Kheel has obtained enough life experience to know that new opportunities are to be valued, even if they're offered by complete strangers. T for language; M later on."**

**After consideration, it doesn't really fit what the story's actually about, so I changed it. ^^**

**Reviews? They tell me if there's anything I should change about my writing style or the way I portray Mello. He's such a sensitive character to write, and I'd welcome suggestions happily. *sweatdrop***


	2. Black and White

Mihael stared up at the double doors in awe. The orphanage was more like a castle, to him. He wasn't sure he could've touched the top of the doors if he had been standing on Ryuzaki's shoulders- not even if Wammy was under Ryuzaki. Upon passing through the intricate wrought iron gates surrounding the area, Mihael noticed Wammy's had its own clock tower, several windowed turrets, a well kept lawn, and lots of trees. As fancy as it looked, it felt homey- like it was specifically built to house children.

_Maybe this place won't be so bad…Ryuzaki did say I'd want for nothing, and it's easier to believe him, with all this in front of me…_

The doors swung open grandly, and Mihael found himself in a rather majestic entrance hall. A small number of stairs led up to what looked like a reception area, and another set of double doors remained open beyond that. Paintings adorned the walls, and he could see a railing perched comfortably above a small hideout of armchairs. He'd assumed the structure was at least two stories, just by the outside, but now that he was inside, he thought it could easily have three or four. He then noticed the smell of freshly baked cookies.

"Ah, seems like Karen is back to her sugary creations…" Ryuzaki murmured quietly. He chewed his thumb for a moment before turning to Wammy. "I think I will retrieve some of her delicious baking before I take my leave. Tell him not to wait."

"In that case, I will place Mihael into the hands of Roger, and attend to those papers." Wammy rested his hand on his shoulder, and he had to repress a flinch. _Why do old people always have to touch you…_ Ryuzaki seemed to notice the discomfort, but said nothing.

"Roger will see to it that you receive the proper care during your adjustment to Wammy's. Good luck." Panda-man then shuffled up the stairs, taking loud whiffs of the cookie scent. He disappeared, into what Mihael guessed was another hallway.

"Not quite what you expected?" Wammy asked, smiling kindly.

_What I expected? I expected to be dragged into a brothel, on the ghetto side of town. I expected to be murdered in cold blood. I expected to be abandoned, again…_

"…Not at all." He whispered, eyeing the elegant chandelier above him.

"Quite all right. That reaction is quite common." _Is he saying I'm common? Regular? Not special enough for this? _"This way, if you would…" Wammy climbed the stairs effortlessly, and Mihael scoffed under his breath. Old man was in good shape. As he trailed behind, he found himself wanting to just run around. Look at everything, explore all the new sights. Jump on the comfy looking armchairs, go sock sliding on the polished wood floors, learn the names of everyone on the walls…

Before he knew it, they had reached a smaller – in comparison to the entrance hall's, at least – set of double doors. Wammy knocked briskly, not waiting for a reply as he pushed a door open. They entered into a cozy study, and another elder man looked up.

"Quillish! Lovely of you to drop by." The man exclaimed, standing up and extending a hand. Wammy took it obligingly, and nodded.

"This is Mihael Keehl. He is to live here, now."

"Mihael? What a pleasant name. My name is Roger. I work with Quillish, and oversee everything that goes on here. Think of me as a manager." Roger didn't offer his hand, but instead gestured to a rather puffy living chair. "If you'd sit down, you must be tired… I will take care of everything, Quillish. Don't worry." The men exchanged another hearty handshake, and Wammy departed.

_Wait, so I'm stuck with this guy? Alone? No goodbye, or anything? Shit._ Mihael felt himself getting tense already. Trusting the first two strangers was hard enough, and now he was expected to trust a third. While monitoring Roger's movements cautiously, he took a seat and curled his knees up to his chest. It was chilly.

"So, Mihael. Welcome to Wammy's, first of all. As I said before, I help run things and keep order. You probably won't see me very often, though. Same with Wammy and Ryuzaki. We are all very busy people, working with money and… more sensitive topics. But that aside, let's get you adjusted. Are you aware of the main purpose of this orphanage?" Roger settled into his own chair, clasping his hands under his chin expectantly. Mihael suddenly found it difficult to speak.

"No."

"Wammy might have mentioned to you that you had exceptional intelligence, or high grades in school. This orphanage is dedicated to gifted children whose parents are no longer 'in the picture', so to speak. Do like mysteries?"

_This is the first time someone's asked me questions while explaining things. I like it better than a punch in the eye, though._ "Yeah."

"Wonderful. While you live here, you will attend classes, comparable to what you'd find in an acceleration educational institution. You will also compete against other students for the opportunity to become a detective. A world-class detective." Roger paused a moment to let the information sink in. _A detective? That's… what?_ "You may not have heard of him, but the greatest detective in the world is L. This orphanage allows children of higher intelligence the chance to be his successor."

"Successor?" Mihael blinked slowly, trying to process it all. _They take… smart orphans… and turn them into cops?_

"Everyone dies, but… fighting for justice is quite dangerous, and were L to die anytime in the near future, there would have to be someone to take his place, and continue his job. He solves the most difficult cases, and without a detective like him… well, I shudder to think." Roger inclined his head slightly, studying the young blonde. He waited patiently for any questions.

"This L guy fights crime, and when he dies, one of the kids at this place will become… L?" Mihael repeated slowly.

"Oh, L doesn't actually go out and punch people. He's not a superhero. He tracks them down, using whatever he has access to, and jails them once found. Or… if an asylum is more appropriate, then… it's really a case by case basis, but yes, you seem to have the gist." Roger nodded approvingly.

"Okay… so… how do you know who gets to be L?" This was all quite surreal. Maybe they employed a sorting hat at this institution.

"Every other month, there is an exam that all students are required to take. The top three scores are in the running to become L's successor. Ranks are posted after each test, so you know where you stand. Now, while it may seem like the highest score is the winner, that is not always the case. Personality, motivation, and emotional control are all fundamental parts of the selection process. Taking all this into consideration, L himself chooses a successor after each exam. The chosen successor will not, however, be informed of this decision. To avoid any form of… verbal abuse, you see. Gloating, bullying, the like."

Mihael gently pulled at the fabric of the chair, thinking hard. "What's L's real name?"

Roger laughed and shook his head. "I'm afraid not even I know. It's kept secret, for a plethora of reasons, as you might imagine. Bringing me to my next point. Now that you are aware of what you will be dealing with during your stay, it is time to begin the transition. While here, you will be given a nickname, to get you in the habit of protecting your identity, like L. You should not, under any circumstances, tell anyone your given name. Wammy, Ryuzaki, and I have to use your name for filing purposes, but no one else. You are allowed to choose your own nickname, on the condition that it starts with the first letter of your first name. I could be… Ricky, for instance."

_So it has to start with M… Mark… no, no… nothing stupid… something different… something special… I want to stand out… Mitch… Mace… Morphine… Meir… _

"Are you hungry? I have S'mores…" Roger held out a plate invitingly. Mihael blinked and almost started drooling. He took one quickly, nodding a thanks before he bit into the treat. It was the first thing he'd eaten since yesterday, and it was mind-blowing. The chocolate was perfectly melted, blending wonderfully with singed marshmallows…

_Marshmallow? Couldn't pick a worse name… Marsh… Marshall? Marshes? No… Mallow? The 'w' doesn't need to be there… Mallo… nah… Mallo… Marshmallow… kinda sounds like mellow… Mellow? 'W' is still useless… Mello?_ He chewed quietly, relishing the taste of chocolate.

"Why do you have S'mores?" he asked offhandedly, looking back up at Roger.

"Ryuzaki has a sweet tooth, so I got used to storing sugary goods around."

_Mello… kind of a paradox… I'm too energetic to be mellow… sounds cool, though…_

"I think… I think I'll be Mello."

/

Mello was too busy thinking to really pay attention to where they were headed. After choosing his name, Roger had asked him a few questions about health conditions and allergies. Finally, the topic of a roommate had come up. Now, Roger was leading the way through maze-like halls to find Mello's room.

_I don't like the idea of rooming with someone. What if he's gross? Or stupid? Or a snoop? I don't need anyone pawing through my stuff… not that I have any, right now… Maybe there's a way to get my own room… do the three successors have their own room? They should. _

As if Roger could read his mind, the man spoke up. "If you are displeased with your roommate, then you may request a change, but I urge you to give him a chance. Many of the orphans here find that their roommate becomes their best friend. I will drop by tomorrow to check up on everything, and direct you to the exam hall for your placement test. I will also collect your list of personal requests, so be sure to have that ready. Again, I can't guarantee anything or everything, but the effort to satisfy your needs will be made. You will find a generic set of clothes and hygiene products are already in your room, so for tonight, please use them as you'd like."

"Where is everyone?" Mello asked. He hadn't seen one soul on the way to the dorms, and that was worrying.

"I suspect they're at dinner. It is that time. I'm sorry, if we try to attend at this point, it'll be over when we get there. I'll have Matt bring something up to you. What sounds good?"

"Chocolate." He said without thinking.

"Anything more filling?" Roger chortled.

"Maybe… pasta? It doesn't really matter. My roommate's name is Matt?"

"Yes. I've been told he's rather quiet, so he shouldn't bother you. He's only a year younger, and currently, he's in the top three." Mello blinked in surprise. He was being roomed with one of the three?

_Well, I guess he won't be stupid… might be a psycho, though…_

"I will instruct the teachers to allow him to skip class tomorrow, so he can show you around. You two will attend your classes after the weekend. Three days should be enough to get adjusted, I think. Your schedule will be delivered over the weekend. Breakfast beings at 7:00, ends at 8:25. You are not required to attend, of course, and it's perfectly fine to walk in during the last ten minutes to eat. Classes start at 8:30. After that, just follow the crowd. Now, pasta, you said?" Roger handed Mello a key, and pointed to the door. Room 44. "I'll inform Matt. I hope you find the room to your liking. There should be a list of phone numbers in there, somewhere, if you need to contact me. Here's hoping you have a good stay." The man's face crinkled up as he smiled, and he walked away.

_44… at least it's an even number._

Mello slid the key in the lock and turned, listening for the _click_. He hesitantly opened the door, peering inside for any sign of life. Nothing. Matt must be at dinner.

He stepped in and shut the door, scanning the room. It wasn't huge, but Roger had mentioned that there were common rooms scattered throughout the orphanage, and a rather spacious library, should quiet time be necessary. The beds weren't bunk beds, thankfully. He wandered around, noting that one side of the room was covered in cords, video game boxes, and batteries.

_Rooming with a gaming nerd? Great._

The other half was pretty clean, save some tidbits of technology here and there. Mello sat himself down on what he supposed was his new bed. It was nice and soft. He bounced around a little before investigating the bathroom. Large shower, wide range of shampoos and other things. The vanity was clear and sparkling.

_I guess 'Matt' doesn't spend a lot of time on his appearance. Good. I can use that space for my hair products. _

Mello moseyed back into the main room and continued the exploration. There was an empty… _what even is that?_ It was both a bookshelf and a desk. Anyway, an empty bookdesk by his bed, as well as a chest of drawers.

_Textbooks for classes, anything I pick up at the library, laptop, if I can get one, and space to study. _

He began organizing his future belongings accordingly, until the sound of a door closing startled him. The tempting smell of pasta wafted through his nostrils.

Bracing himself to meet the most psychotic genius ever, he slowly turned to face his roommate.

Silence.

Laughter.

Orange goggles, brown hair, black gloves, striped shirt, and fluffy vest. Like someone out of an anime. _This_ kid was in the top three? What was Wammy's playing at?

"If you don't want to eat the pasta, I could just throw it at you and say you tripped." The goggled child frowned, raising the plate threateningly. Mello's smile slipped off his face.

"No need." He swiped the plate without another word and sat down at his book desk thing, twirling the noodles.

There were sounds of rearrangement going on behind him, but he was too hungry to bother looking. He didn't stop shoveling pasta into his mouth until there was nothing but sauce left. Only then did he return his attention to the sarcastic brunette.

Matt had courteously pulled all of his wires and other belongings to his half of the room, and was now producing a range of beeping noises from a handheld gaming device.

_Goggles… no idea what the fuck those are for… maybe in place of glasses… it is rather cold here, so I understand the vest… Maybe he just looked weird because I'm so used to suits and ties. I don't suppose he plans on introducing himself… _

"I'm Mello." He said uncertainly. Matt looked up for a second before returning to his game.

"Matt."

Silence.

"…Roger said he'd get you out of class tomorrow to show me around."

A sigh passed through Matt's lips. "Yeah. He told me. Thanks." Mello shrugged lightly and stretched.

"Where do you want me to put the plate?"

"Just leave it on your desk, I'll take it back tomorrow."

"Oh… okay…" _He's not very talkative. I guess that's fine. I'd rather have a quiet one than an annoying one. I won't get mugged if I try to sleep, right? I think it's safe, here…_

"Do you want me to wake you up for breakfast?" The beeping noises stopped momentarily, waiting for a response. Mello nodded. It would be beneficial to get to know as much of the place as soon as possible, no matter how early he had to get up for it. Tomorrow was Friday, anyway. He could sleep in over the weekend.

"Sure. I'm… I'm going to go to sleep." Matt didn't reply. Rude.

Mello crawled into bed without changing. It'd been over a week since he'd actually had sheets to sleep in, a fluffy comforter, a pillow... and this one was so, _so_ soft. At some point, priorities had to shuffle.

/

"Mello? Breakfast." A quiet voice sounded next to his ear. He jolted violently, drawing the covers up around him. _Hide, have to hide..._

There was no smell of smoke here, though. Why? Was father not home yet?

A few contemplative moments later, he remembered where he was, and who was waking him. The blonde head sheepishly poked out from all the covers.

"Sorry. I'll get ready." He muttered, noticing Matt's disturbed expression. Like Matt could judge. Gaming freak.

_These beds are really nice... now, where are those 'generic' clothes..._

Mello rummaged around the drawers, settling on a black tee and sweatpants. He was too excited to waste time showering, though he desperately needed it, but he popped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and change anyway.

He found Matt waiting by the door, still glued to his game.

"Breakfast ends in half an hour, so you have plenty of time. The cafeteria is down this way..." Without looking up from the screen, Matt managed to not walk into anyone as he led Mello down a winding path of finely decorated walls and staircases.

There were kids scattered throughout the halls, and they all seemed to look at the newcomer a little longer than was necessary. Still, with only a hundred or so students, everyone must know each other... it was like a little community of geniuses.

The promising smell of food had caught Mello's attention, though, and soon the prospect of another meal overtook his curiosity about everyone else. Keeping his eye on the striped shirt, which didn't seem any different than yesterday's, he followed everything Matt did. Picked up a plate at the same time, found utensils, and approached the buffet line. There were already quite a few kids eating, but more relevant still was the way the cafeteria was arranged. There were two long tables next to the walls, and many smaller tables in the middle. There was also a set of doors that led outside, onto a balcony. He really wanted to see what the balcony overlooked, but he also didn't want to lose his guide. Matt didn't seem like the type to come find a lost tourist.

Matt chose a seat on the end of a long table, picking mildly at his hash-browns. Mello had chosen scrambled eggs, bacon, french toast, and a cup of cocoa. The warm chocolate was ideal for the chilly state of the orphanage. Not like it wasn't ideal any other time, though.

He wasn't two bites in when a biped sheep joined their party. Curly white hair, pale skin, and... were those pajamas? Mello stared openly. Matt hadn't blinked an eye.

The sheep turned its blank expression to face the aquamarine eyes slowly, and a violent urge suddenly overwhelmed him. Those eyes were cold, calculating, condescending, and... something else. Something that made him want to douse the white pajamas in black tar, marring that flawless light forever.


	3. Storm

Mello blinked slowly, taking in the strange appearance of what resembled a stuffed toy.

"Are you Mello?" The creature startled him with his normal, if not feminine, sounding voice.

"Who wants to know?" he bristled.

Ignoring the blonde's attitude, the boy continued."You've been the topic of conversation amongst the children, today..." The statement trailed off, like it wasn't worth finishing. Once the silence had stretched for a good five minutes, the boy stood and walked off. Just. _Left_. Mello watched him intently.

_The fuck is his problem? Everyone at this place seems a little out of it... is that going to happen to me, too? Am I going to become a fucking weirdo? _

Another few minutes of hardy thinking had passed when a bell sliced through the noise of the cafeteria. All the children stood, disposed of their trash, and began filing out to their classes. Mello looked at Matt expectantly, but he had eyes only for his GameBoy.

"Matt. You have to show me around." Mello chided. He grabbed Matt's remaining food and tossed it in a trash can, along with his own, and tapped his foot loudly. An annoyed sigh came from his roommate's mouth. He stood and started walking towards the large doors.

_Finally. Idiot is so immersed in his games. This is going to be a long stay. Oh, shit-_

"Wait!" Mello called out, turning on his heel and running back past the tables. He found himself on the balcony, and a bright smile lit up his face.

One could see the entirety of Wammy's property from here. A small playground, rolling fields, and a greenhouse. It was beautiful, albeit covered in frost.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he vowed to sit outside for meals, even if he sat alone.

Still smiling, he returned to the cafeteria. Matt was already walking down the hallway, his game beeping loudly. Mello jogged to catch up, keeping his eyes moving along the detailed wallpaper curiously. _How much did it cost to build just one hall?_

"Common room." Matt jerked his head to an archway, and the blonde peered in. Couches, tables, pillows, a fireplace. Everything was either black, white, or gray. Modern, but bland, in Mello's opinion.

Then his roommate was walking again, head down and fingers pressing away.

An hour later, they had visited every room in the orphanage, except for those in the "forbidden corridor". The library had indeed been gigantic, as Roger had suggested- three stories of books, accessible by a spiraling staircase, a mixture of solitary work spaces and group areas, and a room dedicated to past case files of interest. There were five separate common rooms, each decorated with a different color scheme or era. Supposedly, some students were affected academically by different settings. Mello highly doubted this, but at the same time, he knew he'd visit the Victorian style room most often.

Aside from that, the only places of consequence were the cafeteria and corresponding kitchen, the "meeting hall", and the wing of the orphanage dedicated to classrooms. He had been told that whenever people of importance had something to announce, students would gather in the meeting hall to listen in.

Upon returning to the dormitories, they found Roger waiting outside room 44.

"Mello, Matt. I trust you found your way around okay?" Matt simply nodded and disappeared into their room. Mello looked up at Roger curiously.

"Why is there a forbidden corridor?" _It has to do with L, obviously. They train these kids to succeed him, and what, he doesn't come to meet and evaluate them?_

"We like to keep the guest rooms clean and free of children." _...so he does visit? Will I get to meet him soon? _

"I'm ready for the placement test."

"Of course. Follow me." Roger began to walk briskly in the direction of the classrooms. "Do you have your list of personal requests?" _Fuck._

"Oh, no... I was so tired, I forgot..."

"It's fine. Can you think of anything you need right now?" _Right now... a bar of chocolate. And a shower. _

"A new set of clothes would be nice."

"Anything in particular?"

"I like... black." _The opposite of that damned albino_. "Some black pants and plain shirts would be okay. And... some heavy jackets."

"You should have those by tonight, then."

"And..." he trailed off hesitantly. _Does it really matter?_

"And?" Roger prompted.

"Nothing. Never mind." _I'll ask later. _

They stopped at an empty classroom, and the elder man ushered him in.

"This isn't really a big deal, we just need to see which classes you should start out in. Should your grades and test scores improve throughout your stay, you will, of course, be switched to the appropriate classes." Mello nodded and sat himself down at a random desk.

"Do you... have church?"

"There's one across the street. It is not mandatory, if that's what you're asking. Of course not. You may visit if you like, but always with a companion. That reminds me, there's also a martial arts class offered in that same set of buildings, across the street. We allow children interested a release time from their normal classes to attend. Would that be something you'd like to do?"

"Yeah." _Learning to kick people's asses. I'm in._

"I'll make a note of that. When you're finished with the test, bring it to me in my office, if you would. The results should be out tomorrow."

Mello nodded, and picked up his pencil slowly. It felt like forever since he'd taken a test. It was slightly nerve-wracking. Roger smiled at him and left, leaving the door only slightly ajar.

_First question. There are three switches downstairs. Each corresponds to one of three lights in the attic. You can turn the switches off and on, and leave them in any position. How would you identify which switches correspond to which bulbs, if you are only allowed one trip upstairs? One trip upstairs... so you couldn't just flip two switches to see... turning on all three is useless... only one trip... so you'd get to see the bulbs once... one time... time... bulbs get hot over time... flip one switch, leave it on for a while, turn it back off, and flip another. Go up to the attic, see which one's on, which one's off, and which one's hot._

_ Second question... a wealthy man was found dead in his living room on Sunday morning. His wife awoke and discovered him on the floor..._

When Mello finished the test and turned it in, he raced back to his room for a hot shower to find his newly requested clothes piled neatly on his bed.

/

_What time is it... the fuck, 9:43? Didn't Matt feel like waking me up for breakfast? Oh, he's still asleep... how late was he up? I don't know how he's top three, with his attitude... _

Mello crawled out of bed and yawned. It was late, by his standards, but he felt glorious after such a long sleep. With the placement test out of the way, there was nothing to really worry about for the next few days.

_Oh, list of requests._

He grabbed some paper and a pencil from his well-supplied 'bookdesk' and pondered for a moment.

_Chocolate. Green and Black's Dark. 85% cacao, silky, and not too bitter. Maybe some Chocolove, just in case. What else... hair cutting scissors. Some scrunchies for martial arts. I've never been asked what I want, before... This is kind of hard. A lot harder than the placement test. I wonder __which classes I'll be stuck in..._

The sound of blankets shifting caught his attention. The gamer's head emerged from the covers, and he took a few bleary blinks. Mello stared at the lack of goggles.

_They're... green? Blue? Gray?_

The second he had settled on a hesitant gray, Matt's eyes were squeezed shut. He began feeling around for his orange lenses.

_Why are those things so important? What, are his eyes light sensitive or something?_

"Tangled up in the sheets to your right." His roommate froze for a moment, before nodding in his direction. Mello huffed and returned to his list.

_I haven't been to the library yet, so I won't ask for any books... oh, a computer. Duh. Laptop... anything will do... well, no, Roger might not be good with technology, and get me a shitty one... _

The blonde eyed the waking boy warily. _Will he answer if I ask? Would he even know?_

"Matt, what kind of laptop should I ask for?" He watched with fascination as the groggy demeanor became alert instantaneously. _Nerd_.

"...what do you need it for?" came the quiet reply.

"You know, school." _What else? MySpace?_

"I'd assumed. What, specifically? Research? Typing papers? Music composition? Programming? Photo or video editing? Hacking? Multitasking?" Matt's expression darkened slightly with annoyance. _He thinks I'm incompetent. _

"Just... research and writing papers." _I suppose, in comparison, I am. _

"Then you don't need anything flashy. Something fast, small, convenient, with reasonable memory and battery power, but a less powerful processor. Get a netbook."

"A what?" It was hard to tell, but it seemed like Matt rolled his eyes.

"A netbook. It's not a laptop, it has no CD drive, but you don't seem to need one. I'd go with an... EEE PC, from Asus. It has a really good battery life. Seven or eight hours. Maybe invest in a wireless mouse, too. Touch pads cause cramps." With that, he crawled out of bed and headed into the bathroom.

_I guess it'll work. If it doesn't, I can just blame him. Okay... what else... _

/

Geometry, Integrated Science, Literary Analysis, Psychology, Computer Technology, and release time for martial arts. Not horrible. In fact, at any other educational facility, he wouldn't have been allowed into half of those classes because of his age. Still, it had been made quite clear that these courses were rigorous, and that his placement test indicated he should do well. A proud smile crossed his face. He was intelligent. Worth something.

With a flourish, he placed his schedule in his new binder, something he'd only just remembered to request. There were no lockers at Wammy's, and running back to the dorms between classes was impractical. Backpacks were too distracting, apparently. Things could be more easily hidden in a bag.

_My private school was never that picky... or maybe my dad was just really scary..._

/

Mello was awake and getting ready at six-thirty on Monday morning. A tad early, as Matt had expressed through a slur of grunts and whines. Getting to go to a new school was exciting, though. An opportunity to outshine everyone else. A chance to impress someone. Anyone.

He was out the door by 6:45. The cafeteria wasn't open yet, but he could sit outside and eat a chocolate bar.

_Roger really came through. Three boxes of Green and Blacks should last at least a week. Matt __didn't do too badly, either. That "netbook" is actually really cool. I guess he'll expect me to help him with something now, though... he's out of luck. The only thing I could tell him about is chocolate._

It was freezing outside. To be expected in mid-January. His breath came out like puffs of smoke, something he could really do without seeing. The cold had never treated him well, but he couldn't bring himself to go back inside. Everyone was inside. No one was acknowledging the beauty of this icy wonderland. It was almost sad.

He bit off another chunk of chocolate with his customary _snap_, chewing thoughtfully. If he was appreciating the stillness of any remaining life outside, he wasn't appreciating the fine decorating of the orphanage. Certainly, the architecture and furniture should be recognized.

_Is there no way to see everything at once? Consider it all equally?_

The clock tower chimed seven times, reminding him of breakfast. Chocolate, while positive in a plethora of ways, just wasn't filling. He hurried inside, wrapping his jacket more tightly around his shivering body. A cup of hot cocoa sounded really good.

/

A tentative strand of blonde hair whipped into a geometry class and out again. The only person who seemed to have noticed was the albino. Unfortunately.. He-who-must-not-be-named-though-perhaps-because-there-was-no-name-to-go-with-the-sheep-face shared a first period with Mello.

_Reason enough to hate this class._

The teacher was nice enough, welcoming him to Wammy's and handing him the necessary paperwork. He was only a few assignments behind, since Christmas break had been several weeks earlier. Glancing over the homework, he nodded to himself. So far, it all looked like review. Math wasn't his particular forte, so if he could get through the year without struggling, that'd be great.

The science teacher hadn't paid him any attention, and he was left to his own devices in the back of the class. Right now, they seemed to be covering the structure of an atom. He couldn't -for the life of him- fathom why such a thing was relevant to becoming a detective. He patiently took notes, though. Regardless of importance, he had to be top of his class. Or at least top three.

English was more interesting. He was instructed to introduce himself to the students, and they replied back with their own name and interests. Neither Matt nor the sheep were in this class, to Mello's slight disappointment. No one to compete against.

Psychology ended up being his favorite of the day. The teacher was quirky, and knew her subject well. She could read facial twitches, something she promised would be covered in a more advanced psychology course.

_Martial arts and face reading. I will be the baddest ass out there._

The textbook had been written in a conversational way, making it much easier to understand. Mello skimmed it in class as the rest of the students took a quiz. He promised himself he'd be caught up in less than a week, and skipped lunch in favor of taking notes from the book.

_He's sure to be in this class. Computer technology. I'll know someone... _

_ ...or not._

Mello glanced around. Matt was nowhere to be seen. With a slight frown, he followed along during the lecture, jotting down which programs he had to become familiar with. He was lucky to have come to Wammy's so early in the semester- nothing important had been discussed yet.

Finally free from the droning voice of the technology professor, he began to make his way outside. Enduring the cold for martial arts seemed worth it. It occurred to him, however, that he wasn't quite sure which way "across the street" was.

There were two different gates leading into the grounds at Wammy's; the front gate, and a smaller side gate.

_50/50. Or I could wait for some other students, and follow them. Waiting seems smarter._

Mello leaned against a brick wall, trying not to exhale. It was a shame such a nice place was in a city with such awful weather.

He waited for a good ten minutes, and still nothing. No one that he could see was exiting either gate. Chewing his lip worriedly, he pondered his choices.

_Stay out here until someone wanders by, go back inside and ask a teacher, go look for it myself. Oh, hell with it. I can find this place. If it's not visible from one gate, it'll be at the other. Easy._

With a rather arrogant spring in his step, Mello marched toward the front gate. He peered through the iron bars, trying to discern the symbols on the signs across the way. Damn things were too far away to see properly. Might as well go check...

"What are you doing?" Someone he knew was finally present, after a whole day of nothingness and no one. He glanced over his shoulder to see the familiar orange goggles.

"I'm trying to find the martial arts center. Why are you out here?"

"Roger told me to check on you, since you'd probably get lost. He was right. You're at the wrong gate." There was no smugness in his voice, so Mello didn't feel offended. If anything, his roomate sounded bored.

"Oh. So it is the side gate, then." A lazy nod was the only response he got. "Oh."

_Nice, Mihael. Smart._

Matt's focus was back on his GameBoy, something Mello was growing used to. He sighed softly, scrunching his face up in distaste as the smoke emerged from his mouth.

"Well, I guess I'll go. Thanks." He stalked away hurriedly. _Why didn't I see anyone leaving out the side gate, then? Is Matt tricking me? No, he doesn't seem the type._

A few seconds later, he was blinking stupidly down at a padlock. _Why is the gate locked? Fucking hell. Is this some sort of test? I knew it, Matt is such an ass... _

He turned on his heel, narrowed eyes scanning the landscape angrily. The striped shirt was approaching Wammy's back door. With a snarl, he took off after his prey.

_Roger told you to help me. Bullshit. You just want to laugh at my lack of experience. I have a lot more experience than you know, you scrawny nerd... try and embarrass me, see where it gets you..._

A flying leap knocked the both of them to the ground, and Mello heard something crack. He rolled away quickly, getting to his feet in preparation. Fists and kicks were expected; a paralyzed stance and look of horror were not.

Matt was staring down at his Gameboy, now lifeless and silent.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and Mello began to lower his arms. _He's not fighting ba_-

The wind was suddenly expelled from his lungs, and he choked on the frigid air. Another blow hit him squarely in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance.

"The hell? You started it, you-" His accusation died with the realization that his assailant was now wailing loudly, clutching the broken toy as if his life was to be forever dismal without it.

_What?_

* * *

><p><strong>Eeeee<strong>. 


	4. Vendetta

_What the hell's his problem? It's just a game. He can just ask Roger for another one. He could probably have a hundred of those things, if he wanted. _

As the seconds stretched into minutes, his "just a game" theory sounded less and less plausible. Matt's shoulders still hadn't stopped heaving as the choked sobs cut through the bitter cold. A curious thought struck him as the goggles were whipped off to expose wet pools of sorrow.

Mello had only seen someone cry once. In a movie. His father would never have done something so disgraceful. As such, he had no idea what to do.

_Jeez, he started it, trying to trick me like that. He deserves it. Whatever it is._

As the remorseless blonde began to turn on his heel, a striped blur brushed past him. Matt slammed the door in his tearful wake. He had left his goggles on the ground.

_Idiot. Should a broken video game console really elicit that kind of emotion? No. Did he fuck with me first? Yes. Is he being a pussy? Yeah. _

Mello absently kicked the goggles into a bush and went to memorize his psychology book.

/

There was a quiet knock on the door. Mello looked up from his textbook. It couldn't be Matt. No one would knock to enter his own room. Must be the old man.

"It's open." he called, closing his book and sitting up. Indeed, it was Roger who stepped inside. An air of displeasure followed him. He lowered himself into a chair across the room and studied Mello for a while. Mello studied him right back, taking the time to memorize the planes of the man's wrinkled face.

It looked like there'd been a lot of smiles on that face.

Finally, "What happened?"

Mello fidgeted slightly. _I haven't done anything wrong. He started it._ "Matt broke his GameBoy."

"I run an orphanage. An orphanage dedicated to children with off-the-chart intelligence. I have heard every excuse, every lie, every shameful confession. I do not wish to start off your stay on a bad note, and I understand the transitioning process can be stressful. But you have to be honest with me. Matt has been here since he was eight years old, and I believe I know him well enough to assume he would never break his GameBoy, no matter the circumstance."

"Why is it such a big deal? He can just get another one." Mello said defensively.

"Mello." Roger's tone left no wiggle room.

"He started it. I was looking for the martial arts building, he told me it was at the side gate, but he set me up, because it was locked. So, I..." _It was justified_. "I tackled him. We both fell down, and... it broke."

Roger's expression suggested he was reflecting heavily. "Martial arts classes are being held in the meeting hall this month. The frost covering the roads outside is something we didn't want to be worried about. Icy roads make driving dangerous. I neglected to tell you this, as I, myself, forgot. Matt was not, in any way, trying to 'set you up'."

"...Oh." _Well._

"He has refused to tell me anything specific, but it's apparent that his love for technology stemmed from something family-related. That GameBoy was the only thing he brought with him. I didn't expect you to know this, of course. It's just important for you to have some sort of understanding. Now, he's requested a room change, but I don't feel that... this is the time. He's very hurt, and informed me that he would not be affiliated with you in any way. It would be best to wait for him to cool off. I'll talk to him again when he has a clear head. Until then, if you could return his goggles, and tread a bit more carefully." Roger stood and let himself out.

_Family-related?_ Mello repeated the phrase in his head, trying to come to an understanding. _Just __because my family was shitty doesn't mean everyone else's was. Fuck. If that was the last remaining memory he had... he must feel like shit... and I can't even say that it was a fair exchange... he hadn't meant to lead me astray... I attacked an innocent person..._

_Are there no parallels to draw? Do I have anything of equal value to lose? No. I have nothing. I've never had anything worth crying over. Chocolate is as close to precious heirloom as I'm going to get. I still won't be giving that up for someone I just met. I have nothing else to settle the score with, though. I'll always owe him something. _

_I wonder how mom's doing... if she's had any good chocolate lately... _

He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. He hadn't been allowed to draw attention to it at his previous house. Too many memories for father to handle. Aside from chocolate, the hair was the only thing he had of hers. He did like it... even though it was rather feminine.

_She probably died of AIDS... useless bimbo... kind, useless bimbo..._

_ Right, Matt's nerd glasses. _

/

Mello cracked an eye open slightly. Two in the morning.

_Finally. He had to come back to sleep some time._

With the remaining money from his "former activities", he'd asked Roger to purchase a replacement GameBoy. The man had smiled, informing Mello that thirty dollars wasn't quite enough for a console, battery, and warranty. After further discussion, a decision was reached. Roger would cover the rest at the expense of a month's worth of chocolate.

A small frown tugged at the gamer's lips as he picked up the gifts.

_ He'd better fucking love me for this._

Matt's entire body relaxed as the goggles were replaced. His head whipped over in the blonde's direction. Mello kept his breathing steady.

_I guess I wasn't going to use the money for anything, anyway._

He could hear the box being opened, and squinted in the darkness. Matt didn't appear to be moving.

_But a month's worth of chocolate. Yeah, he'd better grovel at my feet, even if that stupid GameBoy was family owned._

The box was closed again and placed on the ground next to his Xbox. Mello let out an angry huff.

_No smile or anything? See if I ever spend money on you again, you ungrateful-_

"If you wanted to see how I'd react, you could've just given it to me in person." Matt said over his shoulder before climbing into bed.

_Fuck_.

/

When he woke up the following morning, his thoughtful gift was nowhere to be seen, and neither was its recipient. Refusing to be bothered, Mello swung his legs out of bed and began preparing for his second day of classes.

Everything passed as it had the day before- psychology was still the most interesting subject. There was a paper due on the states of consciousness Friday, and he was sure he'd have it completed. _Who needs more than a week of cramming information to write a perfect paper? Not me. Now... meeting hall... martial arts in the meeting hall... _

With his innate sense of direction, he found the room in no time. There were about fifteen people present. Curiously, no one was clad in white robes or anything of the sort.

_I guess nerds don't take interest in the fashion self-defense. Or self defense at all. There's no one here. Makes it easier for me to be the best. I will defeat every person in this class, including the teacher. Sensei. Whatever. _

The chatter in the room died down when a tall man strode to the front of the class. Mello watched him apprehensively.

"As you may have noticed, a new student has joined us. Let us offer him a warm welcome."

_Me?_

There were some nods and smiles in response. A familiar face or two, but many of the students looked to be in their teens.

"Young Mello, would you care to provide an example of yesterday's lesson?"

_An example? I just started, what does he expect me to-_

_Oh, the ceiling is a pretty color._

"What was the martial art of origin?" _Wait._

"Capoeira." a smattering of voices answered the teacher. _Why am I on the floor?_

"Which move?" _When did I get on the floor?_

"Banda."

"And why not the rasteria?"

"Use of the heel."

"More importantly, why would I use such a move?"

The blonde grit his teeth and sat up, tuning out the lesson for a moment._I see how they play. Making an example out of a newbie. A twelve-year-old newbie. Isn't that child abuse? No, fine. I can use that..._

"Good. Mello, you are still on the ground. Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Wonderful. Would anyone else like to volunteer?"

No one spoke for a moment. "I'll do it."

Over the course of an hour, Mello was thrown, pushed, or otherwise made to fall on various parts of his body at least a hundred times. He'd never been quite so sore. At the end of class, everyone clapped for his endurance. Despite the aches and pains, he smiled. Never in his life had anyone clapped for him.

As he hobbled out of the hall, a small nod of thanks was directed to his father.

_"First-hand experience is the best way to learn. Take the initiative, embarrass yourself, whatever. Hit the ground running, and you'll end up successful."_

Of course, the monster had been referring to effective prostitution techniques, but still. His point remained.

/

Wednesday morning. No Matt. Not that it mattered.

His classes were just starting to pick up. There wasn't time to waste on worry, if he was to finish three essays and a reading assignment by Friday. Normally, such things wouldn't take more than a few hours, but the competitive nature of Wammy's demanded nothing short of excellence. The teachers didn't take late work. They also didn't bother checking with other teachers for coinciding due dates. The real world didn't work that way.

It makes sense, though. L wasn't going to just... not complete a case. For whatever reason.

_And it's not like serial killers are going to go up to each other and ask, "Hey, when were you planning your next attack? I don't want to cause you an inconvenience." _

Mello was typing up an outline for his psychology paper in the Victorian common room when a chorus of familiar beeps distracted him. He felt his eye twitch.

_At least he's using my- _

Matt exited the room from some obscure hiding spot behind a couch, holding his GameBoy. His original GameBoy.

_Did he have a duplicate, or...?_

Mello cursed loudly. Kindness continued to lose its appeal daily. Making a mental note to bring it up later, he returned to psychology.

_In REM sleep, the body is relaxed, but the mind is processing things as if it were awake... close to it, anyway... paradoxical stage of sleep... dreaming occurs in this stage... do spicy foods make you dream more? No, just more likely to remember your dreams... REM recall... oh, narcolepsy. I think my uncle had that. Sleep deprivation causes... stupidity? How the fuck is Matt in the top three? He's always awake, with his damn games... the fuck... is he not human?_

_ Maybe he's just too human. _

/

"What'd you do with the one I gave you?" he demanded. The question wasn't worth a reply, apparently. "If you're not going to use it, give it back. That was expensive."

A box came flying at his head, and he instinctively (the martial arts classes were already worth it) ducked. Matt didn't bother to look up at the following crash, and he certainly didn't stay in the room to witness Mello's wrath as some neatly piled textbooks came tumbling to the ground.

/

Thursday night rolled around, and the blonde had yet to figure out why Matt still bothered using their dorm, if he wasn't going to say a word. Granted, he had every right, but it remained unpleasant. Sleeping in the library would have been easier for both of them. In fact, that seemed like a good idea. Time to start on the defragmenting program for computer tech.

At midnight, Mello was beginning to understand why Matt wore his ridiculous goggles. The light from the screen was blinding at this hour.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. _If I don't finish it tonight, then I have homework over the weekend. What's due tomorrow... English analysis... done... geometry paper... done... psych paper... I could read over that... yeah... later. _His head dropped onto his folded arms, and he fell asleep.

/

An optical illusion moved in front of him. It seemed to be talking, as well.

_I didn't know I ingested LSD last night..._

"Mello, get up already. Don't you want breakfast?" A plate was shoved under his nose, and the promising smell of... oatmeal?

"What?" he jerked awake, looking around. Matt stared at him for a moment.

"You're welcome." The stripes vanished around a bookshelf.

_He got me breakfast? The hell is he playing at? Didn't he say no affiliation? He keeps affiliating. It's probably laced with laxatives or something._

His stomach expressed its lack of concern as a loud growl rumbled through the quiet library. Mello scoffed before narrowing his eyes and taking a bite.

...then several more when he didn't drop dead.

/

A few droplets of sweat trickled down his face. Today's practice had been a half hour long -nonstop- sparring match. Even though it was Mello's first week, he found it very easy to avoid being knocked to the ground. Being made an example of had its benefits.

While defense was becoming second-nature to him, he still wasn't sure how to disarm someone else. That could come later, after a shower, some dinner, and a good sleep-

_What the hell is _that_ doing here?_

Matt was leaning against a wall, watching him.

"What?" he barked angrily. No reply. Not even an incline of the head. "What are you looking at? Just take a picture."

"Maybe I would, if I wasn't worried about you breaking my camera." The quip was fast, sharp, and humorless.

Mello wilted slightly. He didn't like being reminded of mistakes. The "best" didn't make mistakes. It'd be good if he could just wipe the occurrence from history, using whatever method necessary. Probably bribing. Though, asking for forgiveness would be faster. Like that would ever happen.

"You got pretty trashed in there."

The moment of consideration ended instantly. _This little_._ Thought he wasn't affiliating with me anymore._ "Not as trashed as you'll get when I have my black belt."

"For which art?"

"All of them." It was an option to specialize in one of the five arts taught, but Mello wanted to excel at each. And he certainly would. "I only got knocked down twice, anyway."

"Sure."

"Is there a reason you were watching me?" _Is there a reason you're even talking to me? Go back to your nerd cave._

"I finished my technology final early, so they let me out of class. I decided to check and see if you made it to the right place, this time." Matt's expression was unreadable.

"That's funny, I seem to recall you directing me to the wrong place earlier." Mello snapped.

"How was I supposed to know martial arts was in the meeting hall? I don't take the class. All you wanted was the location of the building, anyway. "

_Smartass. To think, I gave up chocolate for this guy... I'm a saint..._

They stood eying each other quietly. The school portion of the day was over; Mello didn't have anywhere to be. If this idiot wanted a staring contest, he could have one.

At the edge of his field of vision, he spotted a white shirt and a mess of black hair. Ryuzaki? Judging from the small smile that crossed Matt's face, he'd noticed, too.

_I guess everyone knows Ryuzaki. I wonder if Matt's ever met L..._

"Unfortunately, neither of you will be able to burn holes into your adversary's physical body. I'm sure there are more productive things to do with your time. Matt, if you could perhaps show some gratitude. It took a lot of self-control for Mello to spend his own money on you."

How'd he know? Roger probably told him. Damn old people, telling each other everything.

Surprisingly, Matt complied without hesitation. "Thank you, Mello."

"Mello, despite what your name suggests, I understand you to be a very emotional individual. That aside, I'm sure Matt would appreciate an apology."

Under normal circumstances, no such thing would have been done. However, Ryuzaki didn't seem the type to tolerate any nonsense, and Matt, _really_, hadn't meant to do anything wrong. "I'm sorry for breaking your GameBoy." A curt nod was sent his way.

"Now, Matt, you have effectively acknowledged and accepted an act of kindness from someone who felt remorse. Mello, you quarantined your pride, and - given the micro-expressions I observed - yielded the first apology of your life. Perhaps my judgment is biased, but logically, your friendship should resume. Or begin. Back to your rooms." The man turned on his heel and slouched away, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Eee. I'm going to start scheduling updates, so I have time to actually do things. Like school. And sleep. ^^' Hopefully, I can have new chapters up on Sundays. One a week seems reasonable.<strong>

**Comments/suggestions?**

**Ah, to lovely Nerussa~ I've never quite understood where people got the "Matt has red hair" thing, because in both the anime and Obata's art, Matt's hair is quite clearly brown, and his eyes are dark blue. Not to say I don't like ginger Matt. I prefer red to brown and green to blue on his character, but for now, I'm going with what the anime says.**

**I was planning on addressing his red hair/green eyes later, though. *cough maybe some hair dye and contacts for a special occasion or something cough* **

**Thank you for the input :D It's appreciated. So appreciated.**


	5. A Boy

After Ryuzaki was out of view, Matt started laughing. His smile was bright, unabashed, and pure. It would've been a comforting sight, were the current situation not what it was. Mello chewed the inside of his cheek. It seemed wrong to insult someone who looked that happy, especially if that happiness didn't show itself often. He'd never seen Matt smile before. Such things didn't detract from the principle, though. Matt was laughing at the idea of a possible friendship between them. Even if it was lighthearted, it stung a bit.

_Would I be such a bad friend?_

Mello watched for a few more seconds before heading in the direction of bed.

/

"The test is _when_?"

"The first of February."

"That's Thursday."

"Yeah."

"Today is Saturday."

"Yes."

"Is there a reason you're telling me this now?" Matt glanced up at him, annoyance quite evident.

"I don't know. Maybe I had other things to work on, other people to talk to, other homework to complete, other GameBoys to fix, other blondes to avoid murdering violently..." His tone was biting.

"...right." Mello fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Wait, you _fixed_ your GameBoy?"

"Obviously." His roommate waved the offending device around.

"How?"

"Skills."

"Why?"

"Don't you have something else to do?"

"Sorry for asking."_ Jeez, he acts like it's bad to be curious. Prick._

"It's not because you asked, it's because you don't care, but you asked anyway." _The mind reading thing is really disconcerting. Fucking genius orphans. _"Not that your pity would make a difference."

"Can this not be a heart to heart? I was just wondering. Jesus." Mello hissed.

Matt sat up, gave Mello a scathing look, and began rummaging through a pile of cords.

_Friendship should begin, my ass. I don't know who Ryuzaki thinks he's kidding. That kid is the most incompetent, clueless, antisocial, arrogant, presumptuous- _

"Instead of wasting your energy fuming, I suggest you study. Unless you want to go up against the top three with only two weeks of education under your belt, of course."

_This little. Fine. I will destroy his score. Asshole thinks I have no discipline. I can go two days without sleep, and maintain focus. I've been pushed to those extremes since I was ten. See if I can't handle it, you wimpy bastard..._

/

Four days and twenty hours of sleep later, Mello's stomach growled painfully. He'd tried to avoid meals (and rest) to get through as much information as possible. Still, there was no comforting sense of achievement. He didn't know what would be on the test, how it was graded, what the scores to beat were, when the results would be out...

It was all very stressful.

Meanwhile, Matt hadn't picked up a single book in preparation. Come to think of it, he'd never seen Matt do anything studious. At all.

_I think this is my limit. Damn. I need to sleep... and eat... or both... I could make Matt feed me while I take a nap... is that possible? Does the esophagus continue to function while sleeping? Maybe in REM sleep, because the brain would be aware of what's happening... _

_ Oh, hell with it._ His pencil flew across the room in exasperation.

"Mello...?"

"How are you top three? You don't do _anything._"

"Mello-"

"I've been working non-stop for days, and you sit around playing video games. What the hell? Does everyone here slack off? Or am I just too hard a worker for good ol' Wammy's? Your score is going to be blown off the charts when I-"

"Mello."

"_What_?"

"You need to rest. The test isn't about memorization of facts. It's reasoning. Using bits of what you've learned to figure something out. There won't be any questions about dates, scientists, experiments. Go eat."

_Why is he telling me this? Why now? _"You told me to study!"

"I told you to study instead of having a temper tantrum. I never told you to starve yourself. Also, if you're just going to follow orders from anyone, you'll end up being a useful tool for criminal purposes."

"Like _hell_ I will-"

"Why are you always so explosive? Why can't you just accept my help, and leave it at that? I've been here a lot longer than you have, so believe me when I say I know how this place and these people work. Your emotional instability is really childish. If nothing else, use your competitive spirit to prove you're more mature than me."

Mello was momentarily stumped. It must've been apparent, because Matt relaxed and shook his head.

_It's not my fault I'm emotional. I'd rather have feelings and have a chance to live them out than be stuck in a world of numbers and calculations. Logic can only get you so far. Am I in the right place? Does Wammy's accommodate people like me? Does anyone?_

"Studying a bit is good, productive, worthwhile. Abandoning human necessities for it is stupid. You have fifteen hours to sleep, eat, and relax. Use it." The brunette curled into his bed and continued with his game.

/

Thursday morning, 9 o'clock. The classrooms were filled with students. It was eerily quiet; a testament to how seriously this test was taken.

Matt was nowhere to be seen.

_First question... there's a pattern in recent murders. All the victims were wealthy, attractive, and known to be rather narcissistic. They were all killed by a bullet through the frontal lobe, at almost point-blank range, and any blood from the wound was wiped away. What, if anything, can you infer about the murderer? _

/

"Where were you?" Mello snapped, flopping onto his bed.

"Here." Came the listless response. _Here? So..._

"You didn't even take the test? There is no way you can be a successor without even taking the damn-"

"You're worried about your score."

"What? No, it wasn't too hard. But you didn't bother to get your ass out of bed-"

"Didn't want to."

"How is an imbecile like you-"

"Skills."

"You can't use skills as a reason for everything. That's-"

"Skillful."

"Matt, can you just answer the damn-"

"Are you done? I'm about to fight a boss."

"Fuck you." _That's it. I'm asking Roger for a room change tomorrow. I can't take this. Fuck. Fucking Matt with his fucking goggles and fucking games and fucking nose in the air-_

"Incidentally, if you miss a test, they use your last score to keep place."

"What? Then couldn't people just... stop taking it..."

"They could."

"But they don't."

"Your powers of deduction are-"

"Astounding, I know." _Thinks he's so great and nonchalant. _The blonde scrunched his face up with distaste. At times like this, his old life seemed rather desirable. Back then, he knew what to expect of any situation. His father wasn't intelligent enough to come up with creative breaks in the routine. He also missed the feeling of intellectual superiority that came with living in a "normal" place. Here, everyone was much too close to his level. Still, here had food. Food is good.

"Test scores are posted around five hours after, if you want to start counting down." Matt said quietly.

_Five hours, huh... that's a while. Better get back to work. _

Mello sighed and opened up his English folder, starting in on decoding a ransom note. _No misspellings or grammar issues, typed, printed on... regular copy paper. No DNA samples to speak of. Kidnapper is intelligent enough to wear gloves, or something similar. Okay, no obvious clues in appearance. On to diction and syntax. Anything that points to someone mentioned in the case files... family member with a grudge, maybe... no... not with the flow of the message..._

It was a little after two when he solved the note. Three hours until the ranks were posted.

With a deep breath, he set his papers aside and stretched. It had taken extensive analysis of the word "the". Frequent use for no particular reason, along with some details in phrasing, had pointed to a depressed ex-lover with a stutter.

During all of his musings and troubles, his roommate hadn't moved from his game. Infuriatingly stubborn child. "Matt, why don't you study?"

"Don't want to." _How is he going to get anywhere in the world like that? Maybe he's just lucky. Maybe everyone else at this orphanage is stupid, and his scores are only slightly better than everyone else's. _

"What place are you?"

"Second." _Second_.

"Oh." _He's second place... second to becoming the next L... _"Who's first?"

"Near." Matt's head tilted slightly. "He's the fluff ball you seem to dislike so strongly."

Mello's mouth fell open. The sheep was first? "What?" he sputtered.

"He's socially retarded, but tests well. Dunno."

_This is unacceptable. I will die before I lose to that Q-tip of a boy. But maybe... _"Do you think if you studied, you'd get first?"

"I'm not going to, so it doesn't matter." The sharpness of Matt's eyes glared through his goggles, and Mello knew his plan had been exposed already. He drooped slightly. _I guess it's the old-fashioned way. Better find a silencer..._

There was a series of small knocks on the door. Mello answered without thinking, and blinked up at Roger.

"I thought, since it was your first test, we could have yours graded first. Your rank won't be out until later, but this is your score." He held out a slip of paper.

226/300.

"If it's over 180, you did pretty good." Matt called from behind him. _Over 180? But... out of 300... that's awful!_

Roger must have noticed the look of mortification on the boy's face, for he hastened to explain.

"226 is an impressive number. It places you only four points behind Matt's last score. Now, as I said, the rankings aren't out, but it's likely you'll take third. Oh, Matt?" He tossed a small box to the brunette with a knowing smile.

"226?" Matt whistled. "Nice. Thanks, Rog."

Third. Mello couldn't find any words. He'd never gotten such a low grade. A ninety percent was low, for him. Now...

"What... is the top score?"

"First place averages around 250. L has never failed to score a perfect 300, but then, he designs the tests." _Yeah, right. Like he has the time. Who grades the tests, then?  
><em>

"O-okay. Thank you." Roger nodded and shut the door behind him. Mello sunk to his knees, staring at the paper. Third place. Only four behind Matt. With just a little more studying, he could get the four points he needed...

"Less sleep and more bookwork won't help." _Can you get out of my head?_

"Shut up."

"Mello, if you continue to malnourish yourself, I will make sure you do not attend the next test."

_Now he's threatening me? Who does he think he is?_ "What the _fuck_? Who asked you to be my mother?"

"That's not what I'm trying to do, believe me. I don't fancy wandering around in my underwear, looking for some willing-"

Mello was on top of him within the blink of an eye. He wrestled the GameBoy into his possession and aimed at the open window.

_Let's see if he can fix it after a fall from this height, fucking useless piece of-_

"Please, don't."

_Please don't._

_Please?_

_Please._

_Plea.  
><em>

"Why? It's just a _game_. You can get a new one. You call me the immature one, yet you spend all your time in some alternate universe, with superpowers and bosses and shit."

"My brother built that for me." The desperation in Matt's cracking voice was unsettling.

There was a tense silence; Mello's arm seemed incapable of movement.

"You're lying."

"What would I lie for? It's obvious that I could use any other gaming system, that I could replace anything that hit concrete after a two story fall, that a Nintendo DS would work a little better than a GameBoy. If I didn't have a good reason to protect that thing, do you think I would?" Matt reached up and tugged his goggles off, revealing his eyes to be... dark blue. They were a bit watery, but not brimming yet.

The blonde stared down at the boy under him, trying to process everything.

"Your brother built this for you."

"Don't break it."

"You fixed it the first time!" _What, is he too lazy to fix it again?_

"Because it was something simple! I can't piece it back together if you throw it out the window. It's the only thing I have of his, _please don't break it_." Matt tugged on Mello's dark shirt, and he was suddenly reminded of how young they both were. Matt was a mere eleven years old- he was still a child. Still missed his family.

"You insulting my parents is no different than me breaking something important to you. It's fair."

"Mello, it isn't. I've been trying to help you, thinking of your health, and every time, you throw it back in my face. I've been acting selflessly for someone who knows only selfishness. You can't blame me for snapping back _once_. Think, please. I'm sorry I said something that offended you, but breaking that... it's _not_ fair." Matt's eyes were growing more distressed by the second, and his face reflected an inhuman despair.

"Thinking of my health? You tell me what to do, like you _own_ me." The brunette bit his lip before launching himself forward, reversing their positions.

"Mello, _please!_ Give it back!"

There was a short struggle, arms flying around and legs kicking at anything within reach. It got more and more heated until a howl of pain split the air.

Matt rolled away, clutching his nose, which was now spurting blood. Mello blinked and scrambled around to find a cloth. He ripped a shirt from his dresser and pried Matt's bloody hands away from his nose, pressing the shirt against the flow.

Matt whimpered and wriggled away, spitting out blood. He pulled a blanket from the bed wildly and buried his face in it.

"Matt, are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He was answered by nothing but sobs, and Mello was suddenly struck down by a weighty realization.

He had done physical damage to someone.

_Roger. I have to find Roger._

He began to move towards the door. ..._then what? I tell him that I took Matt's GameBoy and gave him a bloody nose? I'll be kicked out of here. _

_ What do I do?_

The blood was soaking through the blanket, and Mello searched his mind frantically. He hadn't felt anything crack under his hand, so there were no broken bones...

He hesitantly approached his roommate, reaching out a hand slowly. "Matt? Matt, let me see your face..."

The form under the blanket stiffened, but he continued to coax the younger boy out of hiding.

"We need to stop the bleeding. I don't think it's serious, but... just let me see it..." He tugged at the blanket, recoiling slightly when he saw the mess of dried blood.

"You sure you want to risk getting AIDs?" The dry humor almost made Mello smile.

"Matt, pinch the bridge of your nose to stop the bleeding. And don't tilt your head back." He watched closely as his instructions were followed. "Good. Keep that pressure there, breathe through your mouth... are you okay?"

A small whine was his reply. Guilt crept into the corners of his mind. _I hurt someone_...

Mello curled into a ball and checked for any more damage to his opponent's face. After a few minutes of silence, the bleeding stopped. _Thank God. _He grabbed a wet washcloth and handed it to Matt, gathering up the other blood-stained fabrics.

"Is it okay if I use the shower to soak these in cold water?" He asked softly, taking one last look at his roommate.

"How do you know so much about this kind of stuff?" Matt's eyes were wide, though one of them would be black by tomorrow.

"...it isn't a choice." As he fiddled with the shower settings, he could hear a small utterance of the word "oh".

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday. Just as planned. <strong>

**I thank the lovely reviewers for taking the time to review ^o^**

**I'm making 3000 words the minimum for these chapters, so hopefully there won't be any wasted updates. This one came kind of close, though ^^'  
><strong>

**Also, I do agree that Matt's brown hair was kind of... blah, but it's canon, so ;~;**

**Until next week. :D  
><strong>


	6. Mach

Mello yawned. There was no sunlight seeping through the curtains yet. The sound of Matt's uneven breathing tugged painfully at his conscious. The bleeding had stopped ages ago, but the aftereffects were still haunting him.

He quietly sat up, rubbing his eyes. They felt puffy.

It wasn't often that Mello's conscious reprimanded him for anything. He would even go so far as to say he simply didn't have one at all. The clenching feeling in his stomach served as a firm rebuttal, though. Perhaps it was because Matt had truly done nothing wrong. Even with his emotions flying around, Mello could be objective when need be. He'd acted out of line twice already. This must be his wake up call.

_I gave an innocent child a bloody nose. It's fine now, but it can't happen again. I'll be abandoned. Even Wammy couldn't take a monster like me. I will get better. I will be the best. At everything. There is no other option. I'll be the best, and soon, Wammy's won't be enough to contain me. I'll find somewhere else. Somewhere better.  
><em>

With a self-assuring nod, he slipped out of bed and stretched. The time didn't matter; today was a free day. Every day after "the test" was for relaxation. In this case, it ended up providing a three day weekend for the children. Nothing to complain about.

With a glance over at the brunette, he sighed. This would be hard to fix. What would Roger say? Would he find out? Would Matt tell?

_No... he doesn't... seem the type. He'll probably just say he fell. Maybe those goggles will actually serve a purpose today.  
><em>

In the meantime, there was a table of definitions for psychology to understand.

_A positive reinforcement is giving something good, a negative reinforcement is taking away something bad. Reinforcements are used to encourage behavior. A positive punishment is giving something bad, and a negative punishment is taking away something good. Punishments discourage behavior. Ha, so if I ever had a kid, and he did something wrong, I could ask if he wanted a positive or negative punishment. If he said positive, I could slap him. Ha..._

"Mello?" The voice was small and timid. He blinked and watched a mess of hair appear from the blankets. Oh, that eye was black, all right.

"Yeah?"

"I can't breath out of my nose." _Shit_.

"I'll get some things." Mello chewed the inside of his cheek nervously and hurried to the bathroom. _I'm too young to be doing this kind of stuff. _

"It's hot..." _But he's younger._

"Hang on, jeez." _Plenty of water, a decongestant, vitamins, and something for that eye... how about a nice sirloin? Can I do that? If I just say it's a special request in celebration of my score... what a waste of steak, though.  
><em>

He gathered up the necessary items and deposited them on Matt's bed, returning to his psychology. Damn if he babied the kid anymore.

"...thank you." There was some quiet shuffling.

_An example of negative reinforcement... putting on your seat belt so that dinger thingy stops. Positive reinforcement... a hug, a snack, a gift. Negative punishment... no more video games. _

_ What behavior was I trying to discourage? Him talking about my mom? How did he even..._

"Matt? How did you know my mom was a prostitute?" He asked bluntly. Matt froze, hand halfway to dabbing ointment on his eye.

"Oh... uh... I... did some... stuff." Mello waited for a continuation of the thought. There was none.

"Stuff."

"Yeah. I'm gonna go back to sleep." Matt began to sink under the covers. Mello growled and approached the side of his bed. Physical threats could have some use, now. Wide eyes blinked up at him slowly. Was it bad to think bruised skin brought out blue eyes more? Probably.

"Matt."

"Are you going to hit me again?" _Is this... what I sounded like?_

"No. Just tell me. How'd you find out?" The blonde sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. It took a few moments for his roommate to find his voice.

"I hacked into your profile at Wammy's." Matt was looking anywhere else but him.

"...you can do that?" _Hacking? He can hack? Find out information about the students here?_

"Yeah. The security isn't all that secure. You should've seen the filing system, though-" The excitement left his face as he recomposed himself under Mello's stern glare.

"What else did you find out?" _Does he know my name?_

"Just. Stuff. Like your birthday." He was avoiding the topic again. _Top three, he knows what I'm getting at. He just doesn't want to get caught. Smart boy.  
><em>

"My name?"

"No. It wasn't on there. No names are recorded on any of the online databases." _So they must all be somewhere else..._

"Is there anything about L on there?"

"Of course not. You think they're stupid?" Matt scoffed, a bit of his normal self shining through.

"If their computer can be hacked by an eleven-year-old child, I doubt-"

"Twelve."

"Huh?"

"Yesterday... yesterday I turned twelve." A pink tinge covered the boy's cheeks. Was it pride? Indignation? Wait, yesterday was his birthday?

"You just told me your birthday." _The first of February. The box Roger gave him was a present... he skipped the test...  
><em>

"Now we're even. Even-er. Can I go to sleep now?" Mello nodded distractedly.

_He told me his birthday. __I'm only two months older... that should be enough... __no, that's besides the point. He can hack into Wammy's. He can find out things that are documented in the mainframe. He can change grades, attendance logs, records. I can do anything, and it could be covered up...  
><em>

/

"You want me to _agree_ to _let_ you hit me? No way."

"I'm not going to hit you! I said I was sorry, so drop it-"

"You never said sorry."

"Dammit, Matt!" The blonde took a frustrated swing at his companion, forgetting martial arts etiquette completely.

"Hey, what would Chen have to say about that?" Matt ducked the blow almost lazily. _How in the hell-_

"How'd you dodge that? You said you've never taken the class!" Mello roared, aiming a kick to blacken the other eye. Again, it was avoided. Matt seemed surprised as well.

"Roger says I have a near photographic memory. I guess I learned a lot from your failures on Wednesday." _From my failures, this piece of- no, calm down. No more physical violence. I just need a sparring partner. Just a sparring partner. No more black eyes, no more bloody noses. All in scholarly competition.  
><em>

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lost it when you insulted my mother and beat you up. Now, could you please help me out with this? I need to practice this move…" Mello bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently.

"You need practice, period. Let me tell you what I've noticed." Matt danced away from the angry strikes that followed. "You're run by emotion. Good for motivation, bad for… everything else. Including martial arts. You need to throw away any bad feelings and focus on your opponent. Once these moves become second-nature, getting out of a tight spot will be easier." He continued to dodge the chaotic attacks with ease. "Mello, you're not listening-"

"Why would I listen to a bratty gaming nerd like you-" _Oh, there's a spider on the ceiling. Wait-_

"Because I can take you down in three seconds, if you're not focused. And I believe you asked for my help." _AKLMDM;NFJSFLFDKLMSFKLSKMFIESF_

"If this is all so easy for you, why'd you let me give you a shiner?" Mello spat from his sprawled position on the ground. Matt swayed slightly. He looked tired.

"I didn't _let _you do anything. One, being in a dog fight on the floor is different from the concentration martial arts requires. Two, I was emotionally distressed, like you are right now, making me an easy target. For third, you're not all that intelligent, are you?"

"How are you always better than me?" _He doesn't train, he doesn't study, he doesn't do anything that would enable him to best me at anything. Why do I keep losing?_

"I may be two months younger, but I'm more stable. So is Near. That's why he's first. He doesn't have anything that sets him off, unlike you or me. Again, I try to help you with something, and it's back in my face. Maybe I'll just tell Roger that this isn't the place for you."

_No, no, no... I can't leave..._

Mello let out a strangled cry of exasperation and flailed his limbs around. _Do I admit defeat and let him... teach me? Can I do that? Or do I keep working at this? Mother of all things holy, what did I do to deserve this kind of humiliation... no, no... this could work... he gives me advice, I pretend to be incompetent, and when the next test rolls around... I destroy both him and Near. _

"No one can be the best at everything. Not without help, at least."

_It's just for now. Just until April, when the next test is given... two months... I can accept his help for two months... _

_It's all for the greater good. I'll be the best._

"Fine. What am I missing?" Mello removed himself from the ground and brushed off his clothes.

"I am not a tool for you to use at your leisure, Mello. I won't help you if you consider me only a puzzle piece." _Mind reading. I need to learn some of that. Could he see my facial tics? Did I make any? How does he always know..._

"I know."

"I'm not second because I hold Roger at gunpoint, you know." _Is he bipolar? Does he have dissociative personality disorder? This morning, he was a whiny twelve-year-old, asking for his mommy to clean up his wounds. Now he's Mr. Know-it-all-about-everything?_

"Right." Mello frowned and found a comfortable stance. "Just tell me what I'm doing wrong, and I'll fix it."

"Your stance is wrong." _Hold it in. Two months of this. You can't afford to break down this early._

"What's wrong with it?" He asked through gritted teeth. Matt walked up to him and shoved his shoulders. He stumbled back.

"That. I should be able to hit you with a semi, and get no movement." _So he wants me dead, then._

"Okay." He adjusted accordingly. _Two months._

The rest of the weekend went by quickly, alternating between studying for psychology and receiving tips from a nerdy weakling. It had been decided that staying in their room for a while was best. Until the marks of violence disappeared, at least. Matt's bruise was only just starting to fade. There would be some explaining to do on Monday morning.

Internal sigh. Mello hated to say it, but with help, he'd gotten much better at fighting. His reflexes were more honed, and his muscles adapted to the swift nature of leopard kung-fu.

It pissed him off.

/

_In sum: I have done nothing but cause trouble for him, and he still continues to help me. Why? He must want something._

Mello eyed the brunette over his textbook. There wasn't anything threatening about him; he was thin, complacent, perhaps a little too perceptive for his own good, but not of the mindset to bother utilizing that trait. It always seemed to be the people you least expected, though.

There had to be a way to get more information about this kid. His attitude changed so frequently...

"Matt?" _Maybe_...

"What."

"You said you take a technology class?"

"Yeah." The sound of furious button pressing didn't pause.

"Is that where you learned how to hack?"

"No."

Mello sat back with disappointment. "Why did you take it?"

"Thought it'd be fun."

"Is it?"

"No."

"Then... why do you take it?"

"Just 'cause."

"Do you want to drop tech for martial arts?" _Say yes._ He finally looked up to acknowledge Mello's existence.

"What?"

"It might be more fun."_ Shrug. Act normal._

"I guess."

"So... yeah?"

"I'll get it changed by tomorrow morning." Came the delayed response. Mello smirked to himself. _Perfect_.

/

_First class with him. I can see how he conducts himself around other people. Which personality he chooses to show them. How he interacts with authority. He might slip up. No, he will. I just have to wait._

Matt seemed uncomfortable surrounded by the other children. To his credit, it was probably because the shadow of a black eye was visible under his goggles. No one said anything, though.

The class began, and as usual, Mello volunteered to demonstrate. He managed to hold his own this time. Not once did he hit the ground. Still, he couldn't disarm his opponent, but progress was progress. The teacher gave him an approving nod.

_I'm worth a nod. Only a little bit more, then I'll be worth a clap. Maybe a bow. Soon, he'll ask me to be the teacher..._

"Tai Chi? It's nice to have a student who has already chosen a specialty. I imagine you're already aware of the slow, calm nature of Tai Chi, then."

_Tai Chi? He doesn't want to learn anything fun, like Taekwondo or Capoeira? Should've expected that._

"Yeah. If you show me the moves once, I think I'll be fine." The instructor didn't seem the least bit offended by Matt's confidence. He merely nodded, and began the twenty-four step dance.

_How the fuck is anyone supposed to defend themselves with that?_ Mello watched with narrowed eyes as Matt replicated the moves effortlessly. Graceful, yes. Useful?

"Good. I don't doubt that you're ready for combat. Anyone want to volunteer?" Chen looked around, his eyes landing on Mello.

They left class ten minutes later, the blonde seething. Even with all his training, Matt had managed to topple him twice. With _Tai Chi_.

/

Tuesday morning. No tests, no due assignments. Just a score to settle in sixth hour.

He hadn't been hiding his displeasure, and Matt could definitely tell. Even with all the negative comments sent his way, the boy kept on gaming, without sending any comments back. It was like he honestly wanted Mello to do well.

Unheard of.

_He's after something. Lulling me into a false sense of security so he can beat me. It won't work._

He entered the classroom, head held high, ready to crush anyone who stood in his way.

The other students had begun to believe it too. Whenever the teacher asked for a volunteer, no one raised their hand. It was the most wonderful feeling.

Some poor kid was forced against him, anyway. _I'll take him down in a minute. Thirty seconds. No, let's aim for ten._

The "poor kid" was one of the strongest in the class. He'd disarmed the most students this year. Not that it mattered.

_Okay. Calm down the emotions. Focus on opponent. Reggie, or whatever his name is. Relax a bit._

A thumbs-up from Matt caught his attention. He blinked stupidly. What?

Something collided with his stomach. He slid back only a few inches, thanks to his solid foundation.

_There's a foot in my stomach. Did I eat someone? Wait, foot in the stomach... one leg... balance. _

Steeling himself, he launched forward, holding Reggie's leg tightly. Mello grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to the ground, hovering over him triumphantly.

The first of many takedowns.

/

"Nice." Matt threw him a salute before retreating into the covers.

"Yeah. Idiot didn't stand a chance. Did you see how long he left his foot there? He was asking for it."

"He was." Mello was practically glowing by now. His stomach ached, but that wasn't the point. He'd successfully disarmed someone. Nothing else mattered.

Except.

_Now that I know Matt can help me, I need to make sure he keeps it up. How do I secure something like that? A deal? No, he doesn't want to be a tool. A truce. Even the playing field. That seems more his thing. Yeah, when he said he knew when my birthday was, he told me his... he wanted things to be fair. I'm already learning about him. Good. Near is next._

"Matt?" _Use the appropriate amount of quietness... hesitation... determination._

"Mm?"

"I'm willing to... call a truce. If you are." _Bite your lip a bit, look nervous._

"A truce?" The goggles had been removed upon returning to their dorm. They hurt, supposedly. Matt's blue eyes scanned his face slowly. A feeling of nakedness came over him. He shrunk in on himself.

"Yeah. I won't... get mad anymore. Unless it's something really bad." Mello amended quickly. There was a small upturn to Matt's lips.

"You won't get mad, if I...?" _Little genius. Knows it's an exchange._

"If you... continue to help me control my emotions."

"That's circular reasoning, isn't it? You won't get mad at me anymore if I help you stop getting mad. Think things out a bit more, Mels." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his skin paled. For good reason.

_Mels? Do I look like a girl? I don't go around calling him "Matty", do I? No, fine. Calm down. You need this. A photographic memory is going to help a lot. Anything to one-up him later._

"Mels. I like it." _Look at the positive side. Resolve. Determination. By accepting the name, I'm showing I can make sacrifices for my goals. Good. Good._

Matt relaxed only slightly. "Kay."

"If I work on being more reasonable, then... can you learn a different martial art?"_ Just as a precaution._

"What? What's wrong with Tai Chi?"

"Nothing, just...it'd be cool to have someone to practice the same style with."

"You were going to master all five, I thought."

"Tai Chi is boring."

"Your face is boring." _Did he seriously just bring that out? Maybe I should help him with creativity later._

"Yeah, well." _Damn. I haven't had to think of a comeback for something stupid since I came here._

"Fine. I can double the China goodness. I'll work on Kung-Fu too. Happy?" Mello nodded, trying to control the expressions that crossed his face. He settled for mild. Matt's eyes continued to bore into him. It was a tad disconcerting. After a moment, he continued, "Why do you want to fight someone on equal terms? You're the more dominating type. That kind of logic is out of character." _Shit. Oh, shit._

"Out of character? You decided I had a character?" _Cover up, cover up. Fuck these kids here. Fuck._

"I didn't decide it. You did. There's no reason for you to want me to practice the same style you do. You want to be the very best, like no one ever was-"

"Matt."

"My point stands. I was perfectly willing to let you take the martial arts spotlight, and then you tell me you want me to get better at it. You're planning something."

"Why are you so willing to give up the spotlight?" Mello challenged, trying to change the topic.

"Because I don't want anything to do with this place. I've been helping you because I don't want to be L, if you hadn't figured it out already. Does it look like I do anything to keep my place? I'm only second because I can't make myself fail. It just feels weird. But I'm not going to try, and it'd be cool if someone else took second, so there was less pressure on me."

_He doesn't want to be L... wait, so he played me? He was nice to me for his own benefit? Selfishness at its best. Worst. Whatever._

"I don't care. I'll learn Jujutsu, Capoeira, Taekwondo, and Kung Fu. You'll learn Tai Chi and Kung Fu. Deal?" He held out his hand. Matt stared for a second before returning to his game.

"Yeah. Sure."

Mello let his hand drop, curling into his blankets.

_He doesn't want to be L. He used, or is using me, so that he won't have to do something he doesn't want to. Works out fine on my end, so it doesn't matter. The ends justify the means. Maybe asking him to learn Kung Fu was a bit too much, though._

_No... actually... if he's only doing it because I asked him to... _

_I just need someone to control me if I get over my head in anger. Preferably Matt. He knows my emotions govern my actions, and he knows how to deal with that. If all goes wrong, and I completely lose it... he'll be able to take me down.  
><em>

_He's my emergency brake._

* * *

><p><strong>Puahahaha.<br>**

**I'm thinking either 20 or 30 chapters. Half and half. Half at Wammy's, half out. I realize that 3000 words a chapter is a tad short for that, so we'll see what happens. **

**The five martial arts offered are Jujutsu (Japanese, geared towards defense and indirect force), Capoeira (Brazilian, focusing on lots of ground-work), Taekwondo (Korean, lots of kicking), Leopard Style Kung Fu (Chinese, speed and angular attacks), and Tai Chi (Chinese, not technically a martial art, but _can_ be used as self-defense.)  
><strong>

**Also, I focus on psychology a lot because I think it's something important to Wammy's schooling. You can't be a super awesome detective without a few years of psych under your belt. That's like, a given.  
><strong>

**Reflections or opinions? ^^**


	7. Cipher

Mello gazed over the balcony absently. The grounds were full of children running about, cheeks pink and noses red. His cup of hot chocolate seemed to defy everything that was Winchester. The steam curled through the frigid air with no apparent destination.

_I wonder what it's like. To have a destination. To know exactly where you're going, and what you need to do to get there. Must be nice._

_ Where am I going? If- no, when- I become L's successor, what then? Will I still live here? Will I get paid? Will I work with other people to catch criminals? Will I have friends?_

_ Friends. Funny, Mello. People are scared of you. _

_ Why, though?_

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Deep thoughts, for a twelve-year-old. All of this was rather deep for someone his age, really. Here he was, young and still developing, expected to take his life into his own hands. Not only that- competing to be a world class detective? Surprising no one had cracked under the pressure already.

What if someone _had_ cracked? What if there was a long list of crazies that Roger had failed to mention? Would the orphanage still exist if there was a history like that? Could it?

_If this place is run by L, then there's no doubt they could cover up something like that. It might still be on file, though. I'll talk to Matt about it later. Unless... I could just ask. Maybe Roger doesn't mention it to newcomers because it's scary. Maybe if I just casually bring it up. How? "Hey, Roger, I was wondering if anyone went bonkers at your orphanage." He knows I'm blunt, so it shouldn't surprise him. Okay. I ask Roger about it first, whenever I get the time, and if he evades the topic or says no, I double check with Matt._

_It's not a huge deal, anyway. I won't crack. I'll beat the system. It'd just be cool to know if Wammy's has some skeletons in its closet._

Class was going to start soon. Mello grabbed his cocoa and retreated into the warmth of the cafeteria, making his way to the computer lab. The children that bustled around didn't give him a second glance. He scowled at no one in particular. Being the center of attention was fun.

Eight months had passed since he'd arrived at Wammy's. The "shiny new object" appeal of the orphanage had faded away, to be replaced by unavoidable lifestyle routines. They were interesting and fun routines, to be fair- his old life hadn't included daily battles for mental superiority. A school for children of a higher than average intelligence was probably the best place he could ever hope be.

Perhaps it was this "fun" that blurred his recollection of the past months. Time had slipped through his fingers like smoke. Days went faster when there was nothing to dread, no reason to tear apart a house in search of a hiding space. Things were comfortable here. Reasonably predictable. Classes geared to his interests made life worth living.

His reputation as third-in-line provided many opportunities other students didn't get, which was nice. But he was still third. Matt continued to do nothing, and he was _still third_. It was infuriating. Matt's carefree attitude kept him from flying off the handle, though. There was no challenge in his roommate's eyes; nothing to conquer. He just had to get smarter. And, if he was honest with himself, Matt had been here a lot longer, taken many more higher level classes, been prepared better.

Not that that was an excuse.

Mello vaguely wondered why he was still taking a computer class. Matt certainly knew enough for the both of them. It seemed an awful lot like a wasted hour. L sure wouldn't waste time going through school, if it was necessary. That being said, what could else he take?

Might as well find out. He turned on his heel and headed towards Roger's office. It would have to be another elective. Something useful. Maybe two different psychology courses. That'd be fun. _I can double dip and ask about the history, too._

Knock, knock.

"Come in." Mello eased the door open and poked his head inside. Roger smiled up at him. The fact that an adult regarded him kindly was still surprising. He smiled back and found his way to the familiar armchair. The elder man set down some papers and inclined his head expectantly.

"Can I replace my technology class with something else?"

"Is the teacher not doing his job, or...?"

"No, no. I just. I room with Matt, so..." he trailed off, hoping that he wouldn't have to explain any further.

"What would you like to take instead?" Roger began clicking around on his computer, presumably to pull up Mello's schedule.

"Can I take... another psychology class?"

"Another? Two at once?" The man blinked in surprise.

"Yeah. It's my favorite subject." _Damn useful, too._

"I admire your interest, but... you haven't taken the prerequisite courses, and it is well into the first semester already. I think taking another psychology course on top of the one you're currently in would be extremely difficult, if possible at all. Perhaps now is not the time. I could enroll you in a summer psychology class of your choosing, if you wish. Maybe even a crash course over winter break. However, I'm sure there's a different elective that might satisfy you for now."

Mello pondered a moment. Everything Roger had said made sense, and he didn't feel like arguing. Not if he wanted answers later. "What else is there?"

Roger chuckled. "Let's see. The sciences, though not considered electives at other schools, tend to be popular. Anatomy and Physiology could be interesting. Many find Chemistry helpful, as well. Art can be a good stress reliever. Dance, theater, painting, drawing, music. We offer plenty of languages, if you enjoy words."

_Languages? I can curse people out in foreign languages!_ "What kinds of languages?"

"If I remember correctly... German, Spanish, French, Portuguese, Arabic, Hindi, Italian, Russian, Polish, Slovenian, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. We have contacts in 180 countries, should you desire a specific language. Latin is also an option. Anything sound fun?"

"All of them."

Roger's face crinkled with mirth. "I see you're serious about this. Well, how about you pick one for now. Later in your education, when things aren't so messy, we can work you up to three at once. Fair?" Mello nodded silently. _Which language do I pick? What would be most useful, now? I'm in England... where would I likely go afterward...  
><em>

"I guess German, for now." _I've heard lots of good things about Germany. Seems like a nice place to live. Then I can just follow the list he gave me from there._

"Very well. Your new fifth hour is German with Herr Gustav, classroom 23. I understand that technology isn't your main interest, but please remember that successors must be well rounded in their schooling. Not taking the class is not an excuse for failure. Make sure you get enough exposure to the appropriate programs." Roger rustled some papers around on his desk, his posture suggesting he was done here. Mello stood up hesitantly. _Should I ask?_

"Um... Roger?" He turned his attention back to the blonde.

"Yes?"

"Has anyone ever gone crazy, here?" _Nice and simple. Was that a flicker of regret? This guy must be used to faking. He's good._

"What gave you that idea?" _That's either a yes, or he wants me to think it's a yes. Or a resounding "no". Which is it..._

"Nothing. It's just kind of hectic." Mello narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in the deeper-than-usual breath Roger's chest revealed. _It's looking like a yes._

"Of course not. This is, above all, a safe haven for orphaned children. We wouldn't be here if something as tragic as that were to happen." _Right_.

"But L's authority can protect this place. That isn't reason enough to say there have been no tragedies."

"I assure you, were something important enough to warrant L's protection, no staff member would be willing to simply _tell_ the students about it. Therefore, it would be common knowledge by now." _What_.

"Please head along to your martial arts class. I know it's early, but Mr. Chen has made it quite clear that your drive is leading you to a successful ranking in the class. Extra help can't hurt." Roger started to dig around the piles of paper on his desk, and Mello took that as a cue to leave.

The halls were empty, allowing him the chance to reflect everything. Roger had pretty much confirmed his suspicions, but at the same time, he hadn't made it seem like a serious issue. Perhaps so many people had gone crazy that it just wasn't unusual anymore.

_What's it mean to be crazy, anyway? Deranged? Insane? Unsound? Aren't all of those subjective? One could even see the term as a compliment, if you look at it the right way. "Crazy" seems to be used by those who can't handle ideological differences. Maybe one day, people will call me crazy. Or maybe one day, everyone will be crazy, and thus, everyone will be normal._

What an interesting idea.

He arrived at the meeting hall. The weather outside remained horrendous, so martial arts was still being held on the property. It was more convenient, anyway. There were no students present; only the teacher, "Mr." Chen, sat cross-legged on a pillow.

Mello bowed carefully and chose a spot to sit.

"Good afternoon, Mello. Feeling okay?" Chen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"If I may say, thinking all the time isn't healthy. You look tired. A boy your age should get plenty of sleep."

"I know. But there's so much to do." Mello chewed the inside of his cheek. Normally, someone telling him what to do would be an annoyance, but there was something about the wisdom of a martial arts teacher that kept him quiet.

"Are you aiming to be a successor?"

"Yeah."

Chen smiled. "I believe you will do quite well. You're exceeding in this class, at any rate, but you don't seem the "brawn over brains" type. I hear the students whispering about your score. Third place?"

"Yeah."

For a moment, Chen said nothing. His eyebrows quirked slightly. "Would you like some extra practice?" Mello nodded, grateful for the change of topic. It was nice that the teachers were familiar with less than conventional children. "What will it be today? Capoeira, Jujutsu, Taekwondo, or Kung Fu?"

/

"You think someone lost their marbles because of the pressure?" Matt adjusted his goggles, not looking up from his GameBoy.

"Roger's body language proved it. I need you to hack into the system." Mello tossed his books into a corner and approached his roommate.

"'Kay. Do I get anything for it?" Matt scoffed. "Oh, wait. This is _Mello_ we're talking about." He pulled out his laptop - much larger and more complicated than Mello's netbook - and started it up. "What, exactly, am I looking for?"

"It would be in the files about past students. There might be records of violence, slipping of grades, sudden changes in personality, suicide attempts, skipping class, insomnia, curious comments." Mello paced thoughtfully. What would they find?

"'Kay. Give me an hour."

"An _hour_?"

"What, you think getting into this system is easy? This is the mainframe of L's personal guinea pig orphanage. The only thing in the world that could be guarded more carefully is anything pertaining to L himself. Take a pill, you're lucky I'm doing this at all." Matt threw him a dirty look from behind his goggles and began typing. Mello glared at the striped shirt before flopping down on his bed.

If it was only an hour, he could work on the new project for psychology. They had to conduct their own experiment, ethical, of course, and come up with some conclusion about human memory. Who better to test than Matt?

_Let's see. He said he has a near photographic memory. How can I test that... more importantly, what conclusion would I come to? Eidetic memory is exceptionally rare, there's only been one documented case, and even then... could I end up proving or disproving the possibility? _

_The rubric says it can be a replicated study. If that's so, then what could I do..._

Mello spent the next ten minutes tossing thoughts around before he found a suitable solution. _I'll have him cover up one of his eyes at a time and show him a complex maze. No, half of a complex maze. Then, I'll repeat the process. Each eye will have only seen half of the maze. I can then ask him to draw the path one would take to get through the maze. If he can perfectly recall both halves of the maze, he can put them together in his mind, find the correct path through the maze, and recreate it on paper. It's harmless, relevant to the chapter, and would provide some interesting insight into the eidetic memory argument. Great. I'll write up to procedure and start drawing the maze now._

The next fifty minutes flew by quickly. Creating a maze from scratch was actually a lot harder than predicted.

"It's been an hour!" Mello sat up, stretching. Matt's fingers were still tapping away at the keys.

"I've been in the system for a total of seven minutes and twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four seconds. If you'd allow me a bit more time to actually _find_ things, that'd be great."

Mello groaned impatiently and resumed pacing. The curiosity was killing him. "How long?"

"Another twenty minutes. I'm familiar with the way it's all organized, but there's no way to narrow down the data. I have to go through every single record of every single student until- oh. Three minutes." A smile tugged at Matt's lips, and Mello literally saw him swell with pride. It was infectious; he felt himself grin with triumph.

"Great." _Dumb 'ol Roger, thinks he can keep shit from me. I have to make sure I don't let the knowledge slip, though. I'm sure hacking into Wammy's is frowned upon. I could get in trouble. Or, more sensible, I could get Matt into trouble. I wasn't the one who did the hacking._

"A, B." _The hell?_

"What?"

"The two most extreme cases of madness at Wammy's since it was opened. There have been a few other students, but none of them experienced any lasting damage."

"Two? What happened?" Mello sat down next to Matt, squinting at the bright screen.

"A, that was his letter, committed suicide. He was the first student to be admitted into Wammy's as a candidate for L's position. B... B... I knew B..." Matt's fingers paused a moment. Mello stared.

"You knew B?"

"Yeah, left a little after you got here... didn't you ever see him?" Matt was chewing on his lip furiously now.

"No? What did he look like?"

"He looked a lot like-" There was a pause. "Ryuzaki. He looked like Ryuzaki."

"Okay, so he was creepy. Why was he considered a failure?"

"It says he constantly expressed his displeasure with the curriculum, referring to Wammy's as a horrible institution, and-"

"Good evening, gentlemen."

The files had been replaced with a giant black L. Matt recoiled beside him.

"Roger informed me of some interesting questions earlier, so I instructed him to maintain surveillance of the system. I see that the precautions were worthwhile."

Mello felt himself snapping to attention, latching on to every word out of the computerized voice's mouth. This was the greatest detective in the world. Or at least a convincing stand-in. Would L really take the time out of his schedule to lecture two boys about something like this? Not likely. Still, this was the position he'd soon be in.

The voice continued. "Matt, I commend you for breaking through the numerous security measures. I assume this wasn't your first time in the system. Allow me to further recognize your talent for getting in without detection before this. Might I suggest that next time, instead of using a program like loginlog, create your own, or use a secure gateway server. You won't have to spend so much time covering up your tracks that way, leaving you more time inside. That said, the security is being remodeled as we speak, so expect something new next time. Mello, Roger seemed to believe that your discovery was born out of nothing more than boredom, is that correct?"

"...Yes."

"Am I right in assuming that it started out as an offhand thought, and became something much more? Something you were genuinely curious about? Something you invested serious thought in? Went so far as to analyze Roger's body for answers?"

Mello nodded wordlessly.

"In that case, if you could please go to Roger's office- there's something that needs to be discussed. Oh, and Matt, I've infected your computer with several viruses that will corrupt all your gaming files if not dealt with in time. Consider this the equivalent of a grounding. Good luck." The screen went blank, and Matt whined.

"Mello, see what your stupid questions did? If I lose _anything_ because of you..." Mello was already out the door.

_Woah. That was kind of cool. I bet if Matt had tried harder, he wouldn't have gotten caught. What would happen if he actually tried anything? He'd probably be first, no problem. I don't understand why nothing interests him. Stupid Matt.  
><em>

The door to Roger's office was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open. Ryuzaki was in the room. How strange. Mello hadn't seen him since he first arrived. Roger was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah, Mello. That was fast. Did you run? You're out of breath." The drawling voice seemed to drip with mock concern. It wasn't offensive, somehow.

"Yeah." _Why is he here? _He closed the door behind him and shoved his hands in his pockets. The panda eyes were unnerving as ever.

"I believe that, given the circumstances, a few things have to change. Namely, my list of successors."

_Wait, I'm sorry. Did the space time continuum just put on a tutu and prance across the room?_

"You're L?" Mello watched the nest of hair tilt to the side slightly.

"I am L." 

_Ryuzaki is... L? That means... L's in front of me. Talking to me. L._

"I understand if you don't know what to say. This must be an interesting experience for you. However, I feel that something of this caliber deserved my personal presence. All my current cases are solved. I have a bit of time to spare. Now, I called you here to tell you I think you would be best fitted at second place. Your scores, while consistently third, are not the only component to this decision. Your drive, as all your teachers can attest to, and deductive reasoning, as tonight's events indicate, are of such a level that I find you a better candidate to my occupation than Matt. I think we are both aware of Matt's lacking motivation. He has the mind to be first, I have no doubts about that. But he's made it very clear that's not what he wants. I am told that you, however, spend nights without sleep and days without food to attain success. You are a far more promising possibility. "

Mello rocked on his heels, torn between excitement and nervousness. _I could be second. Then all I have to do is get Near out of the way. Second... second..._

"Normally, it is against House rules to inform the students of any changes in the line of successors. I am not unmindful of that fact. I created the rules. In your case, I say this for your health. You sacrifice your body for your studies frequently, and I hope, with this change in pace, you will be a bit more careful about that. There's no need to go without dinner. If you are to surpass Near, it will be through intelligence alone, not by the sparse amount of body fat retained."

_How would anyone know how thin Near is? Kid wears huge pajamas all the time._

"Next, I would like to clarify the history of Wammy's... less triumphant graduates. You heard about A. He killed himself, due to a large amount of pressure that may or may not have been self-inflicted. B, the second child, went on a killing spree in an effort to prove something. I do not think I need to explain to you that murder, for any reason, is a criminal act, and that I did not hesitate to send him to prison. However, his actions did amount to _something_. I am currently in the middle of some regime changes. By winter break, I intend to rebuild the structure of this orphanage to better accommodate the students, instead of myself."

_So... B cracked under the pressure, and killed people to try and get L to change the system? He sounds like a martyr._

L's giant eyes blinked at him. "Beyond Birthday was indeed a hero, of sorts. Criminal, yes, but he acted for the safety of others. Even if he didn't know it. His madness and desire for revenge led to, or is leading to, alterations that could save other children from such a demise. I suppose you think I should thank him. Perhaps your opinion will change after I tell you exactly what happened. At your age, many people would hesitate to tell you something as detailed, gruesome, and worrying as the story of the BB murder cases. I expect that such things do not bother you. You're in line to be a detective, after all. May I proceed?"

Mello nodded eagerly, settling into his usual chair.

"A particularly clever woman, by the name of Naomi Misora..."

* * *

><p><strong>*insert LA BB Murder Cases*<strong>

**Sorry if the time skip was confusing. We went from February, 2002 to mid-September, 2002. Kind of a big switch. ^^' **

**Review? It takes like three seconds and they're _really_** **helpful you guise ;~;**


	8. Spiked

As it turns out, the wall was a very pleasant shade of white. There was a tint to it- the slightest suggestion of yellow. Perhaps white wasn't the correct color. "Cream" was a better description. The size of the wall was admirable, too. Stretching for what seemed like miles, only to meet with a partner, form a ninety degree angle, and continue on. Quite interesting. Whoever had decided to create walls must have been a genius.

He felt lightheaded. The very institution he lived in had birthed both a serial killer and a super detective. It was obvious now that he could end up anywhere, as anything. A psychologist, a truck driver, a prostitute, a college professor, a private detective, a scientist, a drug dealer. Nothing was off limits. Anything could happen to him.

Great. More stress. He'd be bald before 20, if this continued.

But wasn't the worst of it over? A and B had broken under the very same pressure he was enduring now. Mello did a quick systems check- he didn't feel overworked. Tired, sure, maybe a little scatterbrained, but not unstable. What did that mean? If L was really going to change how things worked around here, would it be... easier? Would the changes be in his favor? Would he suddenly be so far ahead of everyone else that-

No. If things were easier for him, they'd be easier for the other students, too. None of the rankings would change. The playing field would be altered in an even and fair way. There would just be more time to focus on studying. More time. That's all that mattered. Time to study, work, practice, perfect. Extra chances to beat out his competition through force of will.

Perfect.

Ryuzaki- L- was staring at him. _How are his thumbs still attached? They should be bloody stumps by now, with all the chewing. The world's greatest detective is a puppy. Wait. No. Not quite._

"You're a panda." _Oh, nice. Really smart. Wammy's material, right here._

L's eyes widened slightly. He let out a small noise of acknowledgement. "I've been told that before. Many people associate the contrast between my skin and my hair with pandas. However, I do not see the resemblance."

_You'd have to be blind to not see the resemblance! Maybe I could get Linda to draw a comparison._ "If so many people have said it, then it stands to reason there must be some bit of truth behind the statement. It's not just your skin. You have circles under your eyes, you hunch over like a bear, you nibble on your thumbs. Very panda-like. Anyways, A and B were the only crazies from here? Everyone else was fine?"

"'Fine' is a relative term, Mello. Nevertheless. Many... 85%, I would say... of the graduates claim to have found their place in the world, and happiness along with it. The other 15% were less fortunate."

"Less fortunate... were they weak?" _85%. Let's say 85 out of a 100 kids. Those are pretty good odds, actually. I might end up okay._

"Mello, I wish to make it absolutely clear that what your life becomes is entirely up to you. Whether or not they were 'weak' is not something I can judge. Please remember that I have never publicly revealed myself to be L. You are, at this point in time, the only student here who knows me as L. That being said, I do not spend much time at Wammy's. I don't get to know the students, and I can't assume anything more about their character than the dictator of Cuba. Who, incidentally, introduced me to a form of french toast I am quite fond of. I can only say that they allowed their life to slip into whatever routine it did."

..._there was nothing of value in that statement._ "You're evasive."

"Your observational skills are wonderful. If it pleases you to know, almost everyone I am in contact with would have accepted that reply without comment." L inclined his head and sipped a cup of sugar cubes. There was a small amount of hot water in there somewhere, Mello knew, but to say that he was drinking tea would have been laughable.

"L? Am I really the only student who's met you?"

"Yes."

_Near hasn't met him... so that means... I've won! I met L before Near! I got to see him, talk with him, learn from him... there's so much I could pull out of this opportunity... what am I just sitting here for? But what do I ask?_

"How can I get better? How does Near continue to beat me? How does Matt continue to beat me? They never study, or even try, from what I can see... are they just more intelligent, by default, or is there something I can do to improve myself? Something I'm not seeing?" Mello paused to breathe. L's face had taken on a bemused expression.

"So you finally realized where you are. That's good. To try to answer your question, you can get better by studying less. I realize that may seem counter intuitive. Mello, you have an exceptional mind. Use it. The classes at Wammy's are only intended to provide you with background knowledge and a proper educational foundation for any career you choose to follow. Don't treat them with such reverence. The test, I'm assuming, is what you refer to when you say that Near and Matt outshine you consistently. Might I also assume that, after taking the test four times already, you've learned what to expect. The tests I design- yes, I do design them- are meant to measure your overall ability to solve problems. Given that, how much weight do you think the classroom grades hold? Next to none. Sleep more. Eat well. Find something that helps you expand your mind in new and interesting ways. I wouldn't recommend drugs, but if that is what suits you, then so be it. If you are comfortable, you will be able to think more clearly, and thus, gain higher scores on the tests."

_Sifting through all the verbiage..._ "That's... what Matt said."

"Really? Then it stands to reason that there is some truth behind it." The corners of L's mouth turned up slightly. Mello nodded, brain whirring at top speed. He'd never really taken the time to appreciate how he could file information away so quickly and efficiently. It had always felt _normal_. Ever since his arrival, though, people didn't hesitate to tell him he was special. Intelligent. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask me, Mello?"

_He probably only has time for one or two more questions... what do I want to know... I've asked plenty about myself. I may never get to speak with him again. What do I want to know... about him? Him, personally? I can't ask for his name. I can't ask where he was born or what his childhood was like. Nothing too revealing, nothing that would make him uncomfortable. But something that proves he's a human. A person with a history. _"What was your life like, while you were here?"

L blinked. "Lonely."

Mello blinked back. Lonely? L got... lonely? "...Why?"

L's eyes shifted to his sugar. "At the time, I was very isolated from the other children. It was difficult to hold a conversation with anyone. However, just because my intelligence left me with few options didn't mean I had to like those few options. I still had human needs. I was still developing. Still a teenager. Things were difficult. Not impossible, though. Through the experience, I learned that I do not require other people to be happy, let alone function. Here I am today."

"Did you ever do anything you now regret?" _Like breaking someone's last family belonging?_

"No. Had anything been done differently, there is a good chance I wouldn't be where I am now. I do not even regret the curriculum being as dangerous as it was. Despite the lives lost, there are many more lives that were improved."

Mello eyed the detective. There was nothing about him that screamed "justice". His hair was unkempt. One could probably run a brush through it and leave it caught in the tangles. His clothing was plain. Skin was pale. He probably didn't go outside much. Eyes... could they even be called eyes? They seemed to represent so much more. Some unwavering determination. Loyalty to a distinct cause. An unending surveillance of the whole world.

The word "justice" took on a different meaning, here. It was no longer a concept of "good and evil". It was a tangible thing. It was this man.

Anyone could be a detective. It doesn't take much to track down people who break the law. No, here was someone willing to accept the past. To welcome it. The way things were now- that was the justification for everything that had happened before. Things couldn't have happened any other way. This peace, this ability to live in the now, and not be deterred by "bad" things... this was justice. L could not be blackmailed, bribed, punished, rewarded, questioned. Things were the way they were, and that's how they were.

Anything less than pure acceptance was unjust.

"Mello? Would you like some chocolate?" A plate was hovering in front of his face. Mello took a bar gratefully. Green & Blacks.

"Thanks." He unwrapped it and bit off a chunk, letting it melt in his mouth. One could not simply _chew_ such high quality chocolate. That was barbaric.

"Please, take the whole plate. You appreciate it far more than I do." L drained his cup of "tea" and set it down. His thin fingers twitched restlessly.

"L? Do you have somewhere to be?" Mello sunk back into his chair, gripping the plate of chocolate. He watched with dismay as L nodded once.

"I always have somewhere to be. There's always something to do. I did enjoy talking to you. You effectively affirmed my decision to place you second. Now, if you could find it in you to relax a little, I would feel even _more_ comfortable. I don't have to tell you to use your judgement wisely. What has been said here today- well, I'm sure you understand."

Mello nodded._ What, does he think I'm stupid? The only thing I'd care to repeat is the BB murder cases... and I'd ask first, anyway._

"Thank you, L. Ryuzaki. L. You." L finally gave him a genuine smile. He mentally took a photo of it.

"Ryuzaki, please. You're very welcome. I will remain here for a few more hours, so if anything urgent comes to mind, don't hesitate to ask. Have a good day, Mello."

Mello stood and retreated to the dimply lit hallways. There was so much to take in- all of L's mannerisms, the way he phrased his words, everything- it should be written down. He began to jog back to his room.

_Do I really need to write it down, though? Should I? No, I don't want anyone knowing I met him, and if I describe his appearance at all... no, I can't write it down. Maybe I could document B, though... it was a public case... on the news and everything... people know his face, and he's in prison already... should I?_

He reached his room and pressed his ear against the door. Beeps and obnoxiously cheery music could be heard. Matt must've fixed the virus problem on his computer already. Mello slipped inside and turned his netbook on, replaying the story in his head. Yes, the LA BB murder cases would make a good story. If there were ever a way to publish it, he could rub the experience in Near's face.

_I met L first. Take that, albino sheep. Near's never met him, Matt hasn't either... will he admit it?_

"Matt? Have you ever met L?" _Let's see how honest he is._

"No, but I assume you just did." Matt's eyes didn't leave the game. Mello nearly choked on his chocolate. "And your reaction just confirmed it. Careless."

"What- no, I-"

"Why do you want to know?"

_Goddamn_. "Just checking."

"No, you were trying to see if I'd lie about it." This time, Mello actually did choke on his chocolate. He sputtered and reached for some water. "I bet L doesn't react to anything anyone tells him. You'd better start practicing."

"Right." Mello growled.

_Matt has a point, though. He made two assumptions, based on very little evidence, and got a solid answer out of me both times. That is careless. Something I need to work on._

_...I need to work on a lot of things. I should make a chart_.

_How useful would a chart be? A list would be better. Silly me. What's for dinner tonight... I'm starving... why can't I think straight? Maybe I'm in shock. I just met L. Shock... what is the lowest voltage that can kill? 50 volts across the chest can kill, but that was a bit of a unique case. Anything above 100... oh, for Christ's sake. _

He stared at the blank document in front of him. It really felt like one of those "I've opened Word, time to take a well-deserved break" times. Well. No use trying to force the issue. He closed his netbook and set it aside.

"Matt?"

"Mm."

"What do you want to do with your life?" It was a question people used to make conversation. A question that suggested interest, but in a superficial way. Mello honestly didn't know why he asked. It just seemed like a good change of mental focus. Anything to ground him again. Matt would probably answer something stupid, like video game tester-

"I want to help people."

"What?" _What kind of cheesy answer is that?_

Matt turned his attention to the blonde. "I've been pretty helpful to you, I think. That alone should suggest I'm telling the truth. I have no personal goals of my own. I don't want to become a better person. Money doesn't interest me. That leaves finding someone worthwhile to devote my assets to. I _could_ just remain in my own mind with my video games, but that would be a waste, to be frank. No, the only thing close I have to an aspiration is to help someone else reach theirs."

"But... that is a waste! You have so much potential, and you want to give it to someone else? Doesn't that seem... I don't know, weird?"

"If I had wanted your opinion on my lifestyle of choice, I would have asked for it." Matt frowned. Mello tried to backtrack.

"I didn't mean to sound controlling. I just. Why?"

"Is it so foreign? To meet someone uninterested in personal gain? I'd think you'd be grateful."

_Grateful?_ "Why would I be grateful? It doesn't concern me."

There was a short silence. Matt tilted his head, and the mess of brown hair moved to conceal his face.

"Are we friends, Mello?"

The question was like getting punched in the stomach. He stared openly at his roommate. Friends? Were they... friends? What?

"I- are we?" Mello's voice sounded uncertain, even to his ears. Matt's shoulders sagged, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. But how wrong could the truth be? He had never thought of their relationship as particularly friendly. It mostly consisted of Mello demanding something and Matt complying. Was that friendship?

"Apparently not." The beeping began again, signaling the end of the conversation.

_Wait. Think this through. He doesn't want to do anything but help someone. I've been trying to collect information so I could use him, later. If he's willing, this makes everything easier. All I have to do is tell him we're friends. Okay_.

"We are. We're friends." Mello announced confidently. Matt glanced up at him. He appeared skeptical. "I mean it. I want to be your friend."

"Lie." Matt's tone was matter-of-fact. The blonde paused, unsure of how to continue.

"What would prove it to you?" _He'll think of something absurd. It'll be worth it. I have the second best- no, third- on my side. Willingly. Near won't stand a chance. I'll be first._

"It doesn't matter, I guess. If you say we're friends, we're friends. I'm not picky."

_He doesn't believe it. How can I get him to believe it... this won't work if he's only half invested... I have to convince him that we're really friends. Time to break out the big guns. _

Mello took a breath and bound across the room, tackling Matt into a lung-crushing hug. The brunette let out a yelp and dropped his game.

_It's not out of character if he doesn't know my character. I will have to mold myself into something he relies on and appreciates. He will be completely at my mercy. If that means acting like a lovestruck teenage girl, I suppose I can do it. He is an invaluable resource. I cannot lose this opportunity._

_Okay. Maybe this is a bit much. I'll hug him just this once, but never again. I don't want to seem soft._

Throughout the internal monologue, Mello failed to notice the suffocating boy underneath him. His back hit the floor before any sense of awareness returned to him.

"The _hell_? Mello, did you just hug me?" Matt's goggles were askew, and his blue eyes were giant ovals.

"Sorry for being friendly?" Mello let his lower lip stick out slightly. A crude imitation of a pout, but then again, this was his first time pretending to be nice.

Matt just shook his head.

_Right. Won't do that again._

"I can help you with whatever you want. Not like I have anything better to do. But don't insult my intelligence."

Mello fell into bed, watching the ceiling for any signs of movement. He was dizzy. Meeting L, having L confirm everything Matt had told him, learning that Matt would willingly be his sidekick for the rest of their lives... today had been the most eventful day in eight months.

Eight months. Time passed quickly. Nothing had really changed throughout the year. Since his arrival, things just kept getting more and more normal.

_Normal. Normal is the absence of... awesome. The absence of awesome._

_What is wrong with me? I haven't been able to form coherent thoughts since I saw L. I'm not in love, am I? With a man? Oh, God. No. No, that's not it. What else could it be? Why can't I do anything right? I hugged someone. I went up to a guy, Matt, and I **hugged** him. What is going on. %#*a$!&d%sff!e*%f&QS*%_

After several minutes of intense thought, he was left with one conclusion. L had spiked the chocolate.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry if this seems rather uneventful. It adds up to something, I swear. :O<br>**

**I'd like to thank all the people that have reviewed so far:  
><strong>

**wammy-boii-lover, fadedanger, ChaosAngel2hardcore, Nerussa, ShingetsuXMangetsu, all the anons, and- most recently- Partners-N-Crime. ^^ You've all _really_ been great. :3**

**Also, Green & Blacks is a legit chocolate brand. Organic, and rather expensive. I bought a few bars for about four bucks apiece. X_X Worth it, though. **

**Tell me what you think in a review? I'm curious. Takes less than a minute of your life to make someone super happy :D  
><strong>


	9. Tic Toc

...L hadn't really spiked the chocolate, according to several chemical tests he'd run after waking up. It was still a good excuse for his star-struck behavior.

Mello traced his pencil over a blank sheet of paper. Now was a good time to chart all the relationships within Wammy's, all the possible future happenings, and how everything would affect his chances of becoming number one. Laying things out visually always helped. He tapped the pencil on his paper thoughtfully.

_Starting close to home... Matt. What have I learned about Matt._

_One. He's good with technology. It's something he inherited from his family, so it probably isn't something he'll ever stop loving. More than a simple skill. A part of his being. He can hack, he knows what software is good for what, he can repair... well, video games, at least. It all comes naturally. What could he do in the future, if prompted? Theft, breaking and entering, cars, cameras. Any of those would probably be a good field. I'll keep that in mind._

_Two. Not motivated. He has no personal goals, but thinks it'd be a waste of potential to do nothing. He doesn't want to be L. This... could be a problem. He could step out at any moment, because there's no drive to finish. I need to find something to keep him going._

_Three... he wants to help people. No, not wants. He just... will. See number two. He doesn't really want anything except the newest video games. But he contradicted himself. He said that he didn't want to be a tool for me to use, but he also said that is isn't picky about who he helps, and doesn't care if I was lying about wanting to be his friend. Can all that coexist? Or is there a discrepancy in what he told me? I'll come back to it._

_Four. He doesn't seem to care for authority. He's hacked into Wammy's on multiple occasions, without regard to the consequences. That's a plus. I won't have to worry about him being a snitch or anything._

_Five. Photographic memory. I still have to test that, but from what I've seen in sixth hour... he picked up on all twenty-four steps of Tai Chi like it was nothing, and successfully used it against me. That means he'll remember every little detail I ever tell him about anything. I won't have to waste time repeating myself, which will be nice, but he can use what I say against me if anything sounds weird. I suppose I won't be able to lie to him. Even one small mistake, and he will notice._

_I think those are all the main points. Back to number three._

_I'll assume I know his character well enough to say he wouldn't fake his intentions or standards. If everything he's said is true, then that means... he wants to help, or he will help, but only on his own terms. Smart. I'm not sure if I'll even need his actual allegiance. I just need him to stay interested._

_All this considered, he could be of real use in the future. All I have to do is twist things around to keep him motivated._

_Okay, who's next..._

_Roger? I don't see him hindering my progress at all, unless he sticks me in remedial classes or something. He wouldn't bother. He has better things to do. Neither Wammy nor L would care. They also have bigger things to deal with. I won't expect anything new and horrible from the three of them, then.  
><em>

_Linda, Reggie, Dara and Heechul. I need to put myself out there more, get to know more people, give out more favors. I think I spend too much time on my studies to actually make friends. How else will I become number one, though? I need to be great, if not perfect, in every subject. I have to find a way to expand my connections and maintain my grades._

_As of now... my assets really only consist of myself and Matt. There's work to be done._

_Though, I'm doing well in Kung Fu and Capoeira. That may be filed under "myself", in terms of assets, but it's important. It means I can do field work. I won't have to use body guards or lackeys. Everyone knows if you want something done, you do it yourself. If I can slip into any situation, knowing how to protect myself, things will be a lot easier. L doesn't ever go anywhere, so it'd make me better, in a way, if I can. I might end up being more versatile than the great L himself. But that's getting ahead of all this. If I really do end up succeeding L..._

_What then? What does he actually do? I mean, he solves crimes, but... where does he live? How much sleep does he get? With those bags, I would have to say not much. Is his entire life devoted to being a detective? Will that be my life? Is there anyone around to enforce that kind of routine? Does L do it because he wants to?_

_Surely, he doesn't have a babysitter. He must live the way he does by choice. He said it himself: our lives are what we make them. So that means, if he dies, I can choose to use his role for whatever I damn well please. But what would that be?_

_What do I want to do?_

Mello flexed his fingers slowly. It was easy to allow the desire for first place overshadow everything else, including personal wants.

_What do I like?_

Such a trivial question was so difficult to answer. A year ago, he would've said guns. The family business had been very lucrative. While Mello didn't know _exactly_ what kind of business his father was involved in, there were guns flashed around his home constantly. Friends of the family often visited to exchange the deadly weapons and catch up on the newest models. If guns were where money came from these days, guns would be the obvious choice for a career.

Now, though, there was no way he could justify taking an interest in a career for the _money_. Not after being taken into an orphanage as nice as this. Not after being offered this many opportunities. Not after achieving second place in the race to become the world's greatest detective.

So guns were out.

Leaving... what? Chocolate?

_What do I like? Who am I?_

_Am I anyone?_

_Not really. Not anymore. I think I gave up everything when I stepped through the orphanage doors. I devoted my life to this. To being the best. To proving every idiot in my family wrong. To hold a position of power, strength, worth. Who cares about something as indistinct as self-awareness when you have the chance to be L?  
><em>

Mello sighed and glanced over at the mess of blankets Matt was undoubtedly drowning in. How the gamer could breathe through all that fabric was beyond him.

_...He does._

Somehow, through all the chaos, Matt remained Matt. No matter what classes he took, who he talked to, how late he stayed up, what he ate for lunch, what he spent his time on... he was still Matt. He hadn't changed at all in the eight months Mello had known him, and gathering from what Roger occasionally said, he hadn't changed at all in the entirety of his stay. He retained his personality. His spirit, so to speak. Such a feat would normally be worth respect. Such a personality could be comparable to Howard Roark*****.

Not here, though. Not at this institution. His lack of motivation, lack of desire, lack of willpower... Matt was a failure, here.

Perhaps that said something about the structure of Wammy's.

Mello refocused his attention to the neatly drawn graph on his lap.

_I should consider the possibility of someone overtaking me while I socialize. Let's see... Wammy's runs up to age eighteen, because it's an orphanage, obviously. Near, Matt, and I still manage to maintain the top three spots, regardless of our age. I will assume that's either because the older students aren't applying themselves, or they are just not as intelligent. Whichever it is, the only immediate threats to my success are the two people right below us. The fourth and fifth spots._

_Tablo is fourth. He excels in literary expression. I don't doubt he could write the next worldwide bestseller. He, too, runs on emotion, but in a different way. I think I'm governed by it in the fleeting moments of indecision. He uses his feelings and morals to power through his work. I could learn from him. His shortcomings, however... he doesn't test well. He can't handle the stress. Overall, I won't worry about him. He's too finicky about where he puts his intelligence. He has willpower, but only for things he that personally matter to him.  
><em>

_Nichkhun is fifth. He's best at languages. He'll only be here until June, and then he's going to... where was it... Korea. For now, I can use his experience in other cultures to gain a more rounded education of languages and traditions. I'll need those social skills later. I can't be concerned about him overtaking my position. Even if he somehow manages to surpass me, it'd only be for a few months._

_Is there anyone else who wants to be first, but can't get there? Reggie gives me dirty looks all the time... there's a couple people I need to watch out for, but no serious competition._

_Good. That leaves Near. Near... I know next to nothing about him._

_He's already two math classes ahead of me. Damn him. In eight months, he went through two full courses... no, that's fine. He can do his little numbered logic thing. See how that works out in the real world. Math may be everywhere, but people are variables. He can't predict shit, using algebraic functions. Psychology is the way to go. I have him beat there._

_I guess it'll end up being calculations against insight. Near can focus on his puzzles all he likes. I'll be gaining connections around the globe._

_Connections, intelligence, and physical prowess._

_In sum: continue to improve my general intelligence, make more friends, and finish my martial arts class so I have more room for studying. Easy enough._

_I will be first. Whatever it takes.  
><em>

Mello set his materials down and stretched. He felt much better about all of this. Charts do nothing but good for the world. Perhaps he should thumbtack his work to the wall, for easy referencing...

If he could find room amongst his proudly displayed grades, of course.

/

"Mello, wake up. Don't you want some chocolate for Halloween?" Matt's cold hands tugged at his arm lightly. He shivered. _Chocolate? Halloween? _

_...Is it October already?_

"Mrrggghghgh." A tired mumble was all he could muster. Sleep was currently more important than sugar. There was no way any of the Halloween candy was worth eating, either. Any chocolate that cost less than three dollars a bar was shit.

"Fine. I'll eat it." Mello's ears automatically pricked up at the sound of wrappers being torn, but he forced down his urges. L had asked him to sleep more. L's word was law. Hadn't Matt said something about taking orders blindly? "Oh, no school today. Not that you looked like you were about to get up or anything."

_No school today? On Halloween? That's silly. I bet it's L's doing. He's probably here to visit. Maybe he brought some high quality candy from Estonia or something. Wait, if L expressly told me I need to take better care of myself, then am I defying him by getting up to spend time with the other kids and stuffing my face with junk food? Is that healthy? I think it's normal, but healthy?_

"How many vitamins are in whatever you're eating?" Mello sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. Matt- goggle-less, for once- gave him a blank look.

"It's a candy bar, Mels."

_Mels. Ugh. That name. Idiot. What am I, four?  
><em>

"I don't know what I was thinking." _Okay. Okay. Wait. I should be productive. Or something. I need to get something done. I have to work to get to first. Okay, if it's a free day... I can work on my social circle. What time is it? Ten thirty? Holy. How late did I stay up last night? This morning? What was I doing? Are there any assignments due today? No, it's a day off.  
><em>

"Are you okay? You've been really weird this past... well, while. Ever since you met L. Did he rape you or something?" Matt tossed the used wrapper away lazily. Mello scoffed and rolled out of bed.

"Yeah. He released his pent up frustrations on my twelve-year-old body and psychologically damaged me to a point beyond hope of return." _Where did I put that chart... is it behind my perfectly written essay on observational learning?_

"Maybe you're preggers. That would explain a lot."

"How'd you know?" _Here it is. Okay, I'll start with Nichkhun... I should focus on learning as much from him as I can before he leaves..._

"Seriously. You're really absent lately. Not that it's a topic of concern for me, I'm just trying to point something out for your benefit because the insane don't notice they're insane."

"I'm fine." _Where would Nichkhun be now? Do I use an algorithm or a heuristic to find him? Which would be faster? Heuristic, of course. Okay, I'll start with the library._

"Mello."

_What does he want now? Can't he see I have things to do? If it's October already, then I'm very behind..._ "What?"

Matt's blue eyes fixed him with a cold stare. "Stop taking things so seriously. It's affecting your psychological homeostasis. You were surprised when I told you it was Halloween, suggesting you haven't been paying attention to the flow of the days at all. Do you even remember what you did yesterday?"

_Okay, I did not intend for him to lecture me about anything. But he does have a point. Where did the rest of September go? I mean, I don't have amnesia, but it's like I was on auto-pilot the entire time._ "No." _I can't afford to get lost in myself, here. I have a goal. It won't do to lose sight of that goal._ _First place, Mihael. First place. You will show everyone who ever doubted you. First place. Focus. _

"If L knew you were this susceptible to pressure, he wouldn't have made you second. Fix it, or he'll find out and strip you of your title. Just saying." Matt shrugged. Mello glared back in defiance.

_I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm fine. I'm just really preoccupied with all this. Who cares if I mentally skip a few days. Weeks, even. It's for the best. I'm proving that there's no limit to the amount of sacrifices I can make for this. This is my life. L will see that. I will be first. No matter what, I will be first.  
><em>

"Thanks for telling me. I'll think on it. Happy Halloween, _Matty_." Mello's lip quirked with annoyance._ I need to find a more degrading nickname. If he calls me 'Mels', and all I can come up with is 'Matty'...maybe his real name lends itself to ridicule. But he said that there are no names in the computer systems, so even if I did manage to hack into the place, I wouldn't find anything. Ah, there's so much to do. I need a foot massage._

"Whatever." Matt pulled out his GameBoy. "Just don't take it out on me when you snap."

"Sure. I'll beat Near up instead. Is Ryuzaki here?" _Matt knows Ryuzaki is L, right? He seemed to recognize him, that one time in the hall... he knew I got called to Roger's office to meet L... and odds are, he saw Ryuzaki walking around the kitchens that day, too... he's smart... I bet he's put it together already. Should I just start referring to Ryuzaki as L? _

_No, I'm sure that breaks some code. The secret code of "L". L wouldn't want me spouting off his identity, even if the recipient was already informed. What kind of moron would even think of doing anything along the lines of betraying L's confidence? That was a stupid idea. Not like first place at all. Stupid. Stupid, stupid.  
><em>

"Probably. He always comes and hangs around on Halloween. Leads one to think the day actually means something to him."

/

Mello felt his stomach clench painfully. Seven points. His score had gone down _seven points_. The last test of 2002, the last test before he became a teenager- and his score had actually _decreased_.

It was possibly the most discouraging set of numbers Mello had ever set eyes on.

He blinked at the paper, part of him wishing this was just a dream, or at least a horrible prank. The ink didn't care to rearrange itself. Selfish bastard. Bastards. Ink wasn't a plural, was it? It was a "thing". But the particles, the individual droplets that made up letters, they were plural.

His overworked brain desperately stopped that train of thought before it could lead him into an argument about the chemical properties of ink.

What had gone wrong? He'd eaten plenty- they celebrated Thanksgiving a few days before the test as a tribute to the few students from America. He'd gotten enough sleep- Matt forced him to drop his books just before midnight, the night before. He'd relieved much of his stress by kicking the shit out of Reggie, who was stupid enough to continue challenging him. He'd even tried writing a poem, a tribute to Talblo's emotional efforts.

So what was going on?

Did L write the test differently? Had he changed something to try and trick the students? Did the graders truly pay attention to his wonderfully thought-out answers? Had they slacked? Did they mark him down to try his patience? Were they _playing_ with him?

He paced furiously, mind racing at breakneck speeds. What else could have happened? Was it possible that he skipped a question by accident? That must be it, there was no other explanation for this kind of inadequacy.

Seven points. Seven whole points. He was now so far behind Near that it was unbelievable.

That was it. Near did something to the test. He tampered with it. Bribed the graders. Something. It had to be Near's fault.

No, it didn't even matter if his test had been more difficult than usual or graded differently. It was _his_ responsibility to exceed the capacity of a normal twelve-year-old mind. _His_ job to take first place, no matter the cost. Everyone else's actions were immaterial.

Mello's hand sent a neat pile of textbooks to the floor.

_What's wrong with me? How could I slip so much? I was careless, I must've overlooked something... I'll never be first like this, I don't even deserve the title if I can't handle a stupid test..._

_Father was right. I am worthless.  
><em>

Mello whirled around the room. His fingers tore at anything within reach. Papers flew everywhere, and a glass of water soiled the drafted outlines of a mathematical theorem. His netbook found a place in the shower. His stash of chocolate disappeared out the window.

No material loss could make up for today's failure.

_Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure._

_I let myself down, I fucked this up, I set myself so far back..._

_Fuck, fuck, fucking hell, what kind of idiot am I? The test is so easy, but I messed it up, I failed, I failed, I failed...  
><em>

Blood rushing, heart pounding, head aching, vocal chords stinging-

Something grabbed his shoulder.

He turned, forcing all the strength of his small body into a wild punch. The tightly closed fist connected with air. He stumbled forward, balance momentarily lost. A black and white blur disappeared to his right. Mello pivoted and sent his foot in the direction of his attacker. He lost his balance again and fell back into the wall.

Matt's wide eyes were visible for a brief second.

_Matt._

Mello growled and lurched forward, body automatically slipping into the familiar fighting positions. His arms whipped out, jabbing powerfully at the brunette. His kicks were aimed to permanently disable. Kneecaps, face, throat. Every movement was potentially deadly, and yet every blow was deflected.

His frustration continued to build. Could he not even channel his pain into physical superiority? Was he really that weak?

It must've been a sight to see; a fight between someone running on unadulterated fury and someone completely listless in most, if not all, aspects of life. Power pit against skill. Will against ability. A situation parents warned about through children's tales, but was never understood until experienced. This stunning contrast in technique determined the very clear winner to any who happened to walk past their room.

Mello blinked up at Matt slowly.

He couldn't move his right arm. His stomach threatened to eject the eggs he'd eaten for breakfast. The ligaments of his ankles throbbed dangerously.

He had been defeated yet again.

He was first in no category.

* * *

><p><strong>*A character known for his flourishing individualistic qualities in the face of conformity and collectivism. From the <span>Fountainhead<span> by Ayn Rand.  
><strong>

**Excuse the K-Pop references :3 I don't own Dara (2NE1), Heechul (Super Junior), Tablo (Epik High) or Nichkhun (2PM). I just like their names. ^^; Nor do I own Death Note, for that matter, if that was at all unclear. ._.**

**Chapter nine already... thank you to all the lovelies who have reviewed (most recently, MyNameIsM) You're amazing. ヽ(^-^)ﾉ Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it) :D Oh, and I was wondering what you thought of a two-week break between now and the 10th chapter... would that be acceptable, if the chapter was longer? Like, way longer? Not for no reason, mind you. It's the halfway-point chapter, and there's a lot going into it. Tell me what you think ^^  
><strong>


	10. Bang!

Tears streamed down his face.

He felt the profanity flowing from his mouth.

Matt backed away. He looked scared.

He dimly registered Roger's hands poking at him.

The aches of his body were lost in the whirlwind of emotion.

It lasted around five minutes.

Mello then picked himself up, wiped his wet face on his sleeve, and returned to his homework.

/

December.

January.

February.

March.

It took several months for Mello's pride to heal. Matt didn't help, of course. No one did. No one paid any mind to the blonde's more-sour-than-usual mood swings. He went from subdued to outraged in less than thirty seconds. They all accepted his mini-tantrums without comment. Compared to a serial killer who looked like L, Mello supposed he wasn't that threatening.

Yet.

His schoolwork was dismal. Matt took second place without lifting a finger. Mello accepted this change of events without batting an eye.

April.

_Something's wrong with me. I should fix it. _

May.

_I'm still in this slump. Am I really that useless? Pull your shit together, Mello! Matt's in second! You're wasting time!_

June.

He got his grades back on track, maintaining the equivalent of a 5.0 overall. His test scores returned to their usual range of 225-235. Occasionally, he would score around 240, and spend the night babbling to his "friend" about how he had used his intuition to change some answers last minute. Matt never expressed any real interest, but the tiny change in posture indicated- to Mello, at least- that he was listening. Possibly even proud.

Matt didn't know it, but that meant more than chocolate.

Not that Mello would ever say so.

July.

Not long after his wounds were good and licked did the motivation to be first at everything smack him in the forehead again. Not long after _that_, he found himself able to take down anyone in his martial arts class. Matt included. Chen always gave him a nod of approval after such a match. The refreshing waves of success kept him on a constant high, albeit prone to ditzy ignorance. His "dark ages", as Matt liked to call them, were over.

The brunette was proving as useful as predicted. He was a good sparring partner, he provided a fresh set of eyes whenever a homework problem couldn't be solved conventionally, and he had no problem telling Mello when he was out of line. Through practice and constant criticism, Mello learned to control himself. Everything he did required some form of emotional control, be it studying, arguing, trying to sleep, or analyzing a particularly close to home piece of literature. With the help of his apathetic "friend", things became much easier to deal with. His mood stabilized. His mind cleared. He could look at things without personal bias and offer fair opinions. He was, in general, a much more pleasant person to be around.

But he was hollow.

Everyone noticed it. Everyone could see his fighting spirit was slowly fading away. Not to say he wasn't determined. He was. But that's all he was.

And everyone at Wammy's was in silent agreement: let it happen.

By August, Mello had defeated Chen in battle twice. He was the undisputed "champion" of martial arts at Wammy's. Chen even offered to let him take over teaching the classes. Mello declined.

Another year and a half passed by without incident. There were stories of a criminal named Kira, who was murdering criminals across the globe. People were dying left and right. It was impossible for this to be the work of one person, but there it was.

L hadn't come to visit in ages. He was working the case with everything he had. It still didn't seem to be enough. The murders continued.

Mello didn't think much of it. This was just a tough guy to catch. L would be back to share more stories and experiences later.

For a long time, Mello didn't think much of anything at all.

/

"What was that? Roger, what did you just say?"

"I'm afraid L is dead."

"He's dead? But- but how? Was it Kira? Did Kira kill him? Come on, Roger, you've got to tell me!"

"Probably."

"But he promised me he'd find Kira and execute him, and now you're telling me that he's been killed?"

"Mello!"

The soft sound of puzzle pieces hitting the floor interrupted them.

"If you can't win the game, if you can't solve the puzzle- then you're just a loser."

"So, which of us did L pick? Me, or Near?"

"He hadn't chosen yet. And now that he's gone, I'm afraid he won't be able to. Mello, listen. You too, Near. Can't the two of you work together?"

"All right. Sounds good."

"It'll never work, Roger. We can't do this together. You know I don't get along with Near. We've always competed against each other. Always." Pregnant pause. "You know what? It's fine. Near should be the one to succeed L. He's not like me, he never gets emotional. He just uses his head, like it's a game or a puzzle. And as for me, I'm leaving this institution."

"Wait, Mello-"

"Don't waste your breath. I'm almost fifteen years old. It's time I started living my own life."

/

The door closed quietly behind him, and the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.

_L is dead. Kira killed him. Near is L's successor, and will soon be taking over the Kira case.  
><em>

_Work together? No. __Ever since I came to Wammy's, ever since he approached me in the cafeteria, he's been a thorn in my side. The first words out of his mouth. Tch. Am I Mello? No, this twerp won't be the next L. I'll find a way. There's always a way. I'll show him who Mello is. __I have to beat him. Whatever it takes._

_First. _

_First. _

_First._

_I'll be first._

_I'll catch Kira, and Near will concede.  
><em>

Upon entering his room, aqua eyes fell to Matt. Buried under the blankets with his PSP. Still a child.

As Mello emptied his backpack of school supplies and began refilling it with clothes, he allowed himself a grimace. There was no way he could take Matt with him. It wasn't even an option, really. So he'd be alone. Again.

Do all roads lead to isolation?

A soft sigh passed through his lips, chapped from years of stressed screams and outbursts. Lip balm would be needed.

_Right. Lip balm, clothing, all the chocolate I currently own, flashlight, batteries, hydrogen peroxide, vitamins, and a small first aid kit. I don't have room for anything else, and I won't have time for luxuries like shampoo and lotion. I'll just pack what I need. Who knows how long it'll be before I find a place to stay. I might... I might not make it at all. I have to take that option into consideration, too. Be objective._

_If I don't make it, then I guess it's up to Near. He's certainly not going to get any of my help. He won't even be able to contact me. That's right, I have to hide my tracks. No one can know where I am. It'd be best if I didn't even know where I was. That's improbable, though.  
><em>

_So where do I want to go? Should I stay in England? I know enough German to get by, but I'd need a passport- oh, shit. I can't give out my identity. As a runaway from Wammy's, it's too dangerous to go spouting off my name. What name would I even use? That aside, my picture? I can't have any form of ID at all, fake or not. There has to be a way around that. No, no. I'll remain here. Until I can find some other way to get out and expand my operations, I'm stuck here._

_But in the event that I do get out of the country, what then? If I catch Kira before Near, that will surely place me first, but how? What can I do that he can't? What kind of levels am I capable of reaching to defeat him?_

_Easy. Anything. Whatever it takes._

_So what? Do I become a criminal? Would that even work?_

_It's something Near wouldn't do. And if Near won't do it, it's something I can beat him at. _

_That's it, then. I find "alternative methods" to destroying Kira. Where to start...  
><em>

"...are you coming back?"

_How'd he know I was leaving?_ "No." _I'm packing up things that suggest a prolonged stay elsewhere. He probably knew L was dead before I did, anyway._

"Don't you think it's selfish to let three years of someone's life walk away?"

Mello paused. There were an infinite amount of ways to interpret that statement, and even more ways to react to it. He replied snidely, "Don't you think it's selfish to confine my potential?"

"That response, while intended to hurt, holds no logical merit. Your potential has as much chance of increasing here than it does on the streets. In fact, I daresay you'd accomplish more here. Answer my question with an actual answer." Matt slipped his goggles off and- there would be bacon soaring through the skies any moment now- set his PSP down. He straightened up and looked Mello square in the eye. The blonde stared back defiantly.

"I do think it's selfish, but I don't know why you asked, because it has nothing to do with this."

"You're a jerk, you know that? I do whatever you want, whenever you want, and then you just leave."

"Are you saying I'm your life, then?" _I've got all my shit packed. I'm ready. Time to go._

"I'm saying my life consists mostly _of_ you, since you decided I'd be a useful asset." Matt's arms were now crossed over his chest- a sign that he was legitimately angry. Mello frowned. Had it been that obvious?

"I never decided-"

"Are you really going to stand there and weave some intricate lie about my perception of our "friendship"? Do I really seem like the type of person to fall for that? I took psychology ages ago. There's nothing you can run by me that I haven't read or witnessed before. Mello, I'm trying to tell you you're being a complete ass- you've _always_ been a complete ass, and you won't listen to me. Don't you think I've earned a little credibility over the years? Don't you think my opinion matters a bit? I'm trying to help you, _again_, because you're not going to get anywhere if you keep acting like that."

Mello grit his teeth. "Who do you think you are?"

"I think I'm a person who knows you well enough to be able to back this up."

_He knows me?_ _How the hell did he come to that conclusion?_ "You don't know me at all!"

Matt's eyes glinted dangerously. "You were born on December 13 to a blonde prostitute and a Mafia-hired assassin. She had a thing for chocolate, and passed the trait on to you. He had quite the temper, and as we've seen, you inherited that also. Your mother left early, your father was killed in his line of work. You followed your mother's footsteps and prostituted yourself to earn a living until Wammy and L came to get you. You think you're the only student at this orphanage who knew L. I know who he was, what he looked like. I'm not stupid. You're arrogant, childish, very susceptible to outside influence, run by an uncontrollable temper, and quite brilliant. However, your emotional weaknesses overshadow your intelligence constantly, and it becomes a vicious cycle that never ends. You like expensive chocolate, eating outdoors, playing sports and crushing your opponents. On the off chance you're not being a competitive, pig-headed _ass_, you read poetic literature. Appearances mean a lot to you. You like sophistication. You wear black all the time, but you're drawn to pastel colors and delicate designs. Black sets you apart from Near. Whenever you see Near, your knuckles clench and your eyes narrow. Near is the only person to get a physical reaction out of you on sight."

Mello opened his mouth to protest, but Matt was not done.

"You, for all the world, seem like a heartless bastard, but you're certainly not. I once saw you singing to a butterfly. Piano music calms you down, but you don't listen to it. You love being noticed. Praise is even better, of course. Compliments and approval stroke your oversized ego to the point of elation. You don't see the point of creative syntax. You're a cat person. You excel at algebra, but the moment theoretical mathematics come into the picture, you have trouble. Incidentally, you always scratch your nose with your left hand when solving math problems. You like the heat more than the cold. You have an eye for detail and sometimes miss the big picture. Your last name starts with a "K". You've slipped up several times, marking your personal belongings with "Mello K". When you play chess, you start the same way every game. As white, you use the Réti opening: knight to f3. As black, knight to f6. The Indian Defenses are your favorite for an opening setup. Every night after dinner, _if_ you ate dinner, you floss, then brush your teeth, then floss again. You desperately need someone to talk with, but the second anyone proves smart enough to actually carry a conversation, they're a threat. That's why you haven't killed me yet. I'm not threatening. That's why you bother with me, and that's why I started bothering with you. If you have the gall to tell me I don't know you "at all", you've got another thing coming."

They stood in silence. Matt's chest was heaving with the effort of speaking so enthusiastically. The corners of his lips were turned up, though, and his chin was inclined slightly. Triumph.

Mello scanned him thoroughly. Perhaps an incorrect judgement had been made, somewhere along the line. Backtrack, backtrack. "Did you hack my background profile again?"

"I get bored."

In all honesty, there wasn't an appropriate reply for that.

But he tried anyway. "Oh."

Good effort.

Matt stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So, back on topic. You don't seem to think my opinion holds any real weight. If you wanted, I could list every instance since your arrival that disproves your faulty theory. I do believe you're a little tired of hearing my voice, however. Something you would like to add before you run off into the sunset without considering what I have to say at all?"

Run off into the sunset. It sounded like such a pleasant _adventure_.

"If it means anything, I never expressly said I didn't value your input."

"You asked me who I thought I was. What, did you expect me to take that as some form of soulful recognition?" Matt's tone, as usual, was flippant, but there were traces of actual emotion in there.

_Well, that excuse is out._ "Whatever."

"I thought you'd be grateful I spent so much of my life watching you. I'm being let down all over the place, huh?" _Is he... stalling?_

"Grateful?"_ Does he actually want me to stay?_

"Guess not."_ Does someone... want me?_

"Danke." _My turn to stall. What do I do, what do I do..._

"Bitte." _He knows German?_ _When the fuck... wait, focusing. Stop fucking around, Mihael._

"Do you want me to stay?"_ There. Nice and simple. None of that sappy decoding second meaning crap._

"I don't care one way or the other. You can be cruel, and I've hit some pretty low lows because of your selfish temper. But you're creative and interesting." _Evasion_. _Time to turn this back on him and go out on a limb._

"You do care." _God, this is so cheesy._

Thin eyebrows, barely visible under the dark locks of hair, scrunched up with displeasure. "You don't know jack about me, so don't even try."

_Well, that's true. But maybe..._ "I don't know jack? You enjoy technology because it reminds you of your family, you're a lazy kid who seems to think he's worth some form of exploitation..."

It took Mello several minutes to run through his list of "facts", but not one of the hypotheses got a rise out of the target. Frustrating. Why couldn't Matt do what he was supposed to? It was _obvious_. He should be freaking out over the analysis, beg for forgiveness, not receive it, and live the rest of his life knowing he'd misread his roommate. That's how things always went.

"So you were paying attention." _What, now he's going to be arrogant about it?_

"I didn't pay attention to anything less than what you presented to the public." _I really have to get out of here._

"But you paid attention. I didn't think you were capable." Matt's face softened slightly. _Oh, here it comes. The waterworks._

"I'm capable of a lot of things. I gotta go, though, so-"

"Wait a minute."_ Does it look like I have time to waste?_

Matt crawled under his bed and dug around through the traditional rubbish accumulated there. His socked feet kicked lazily at the air.

Some time later, the striped body wriggled back out and produced a small box. Mello instantly recognized it as the first gift he'd ever given: a GameBoy.

_So he didn't throw it away. Huh._

He gingerly accepted the offering, but didn't know what else to do.

"This is both a 'thank you' and a 'you're welcome'." _What even._

"What did you want me to do with this? Play with it when I'm bored?" Mello turned the box over in his hands, scanning the colored descriptions of what awaited inside. Matt scoffed.

"I did some stuff to it. To put it in terms you'd understand, it has a connection to my GameBoy." He held his own battered device up. "If... if you ever need me, you can get to me." An unpleasant emotion clouded his generally neutral features.

Mello blinked slowly. "So... it's like a cell phone?"

"No. If you get abducted or something, the first thing they'll take is a cell phone. Why the hell would you rely on something so obvious? No, no. Disguises are good. No guarantees, but an old GameBoy isn't nearly as suspicious as a cell phone. Even if someone goes through your room or house or brothel or whatever, it's just a GameBoy. Quite literally. If anyone turns it on, a game of Pokemon starts up. Pretty normal. Now, you're smart. Should you require another _asset_, just turn it on and play through a few levels. When you get to... well. You'll probably figure it out." Matt tugged at his goggles distractedly. It seemed like his fingers were longing to return to their usual button-pressing. Mello wondered just how long his roommate- former roommate- could go without some form of technological fix.

Drug-related innuendos aside, Matt had gone out of his way to provide some sort of security blanket for him. That wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"Why?" _First stalling, now this? He doesn't actually care, right? That's stupid. So why would he take the time?_

"I don't really want to stay here. I'm kinda tired of it all. But you probably don't need me yet. So, whenever you do, I'm within reach." _Of course. Typical Matt. Not being sappy, just looking for something to do._

"Okay. Thanks, then." Mello shoved the box in his overflowing backpack. "For everything. You really helped." _Had to say it sometime._

He received a small smile. "Am I witnessing the apocalypse? Is the world ending? Should this be a national holiday?" _...ass._ Mello shoved him lightly. This really was the second time he'd ever vocally expressed any form of gratitude to his "friend", though. Perhaps teasing was a given.

"I guess I'll go."_ I might actually miss this place. No, not really. I might miss Matt. Sarcastic, cynical, observational, lazy, intelligent Matt. _

"One more thing." The gamer pulled out his laptop and flicked the screen on, fiddling around with some files. He pulled up a document covered in numbers and equations. Mello leaned in to make sense of it all. Looked like money. "You can't leave Wammy's broke. That's an embarrassment. Take your fifty thousand."

_Take. My. Fifty._

...

"My what?"

"Every student has a private trust set away upon entrance. Twenty thousand initially, another ten for second place, ten percent interest for two full years brings you up to thirty-six thousand three hundred- plus around fourteen-thousand I scrounged up from some other accounts. Mostly Near's. Happy early birthday."

He felt his brain short-circuiting. "How did you- what?" Some prank to play on your runaway roommate.

Matt clicked his tongue impatiently. "Usually, you'd get your money at eighteen, and you're forfeiting the five hundred thousand for graduation, but it'd be better if you had something to live on now. You also have a thing for even numbers. I figured you wouldn't complain about stealing some from Near, if it meant a nice fifty."

_Fifty thousand? For me? To spend on anything? But how is that legal, I don't..._ "How will I be able to access it? I can't have an ID, I don't want my pictures traveling around everywhere, and I can't operate a bank account until I'm of age..."

"Don't worry about it." Matt handed over a small envelope. It contained several different credit cards, each with a different name and account number, along with several hundred in cash.

"Matt! How did you get these?" Mello demanded, looking through the information in disbelief. "I have an account? Don't you have to have pictures and names for those? Is all my personal data-"

"Calm down. You think Wammy's doesn't have a procedure for this kind of thing? These cards link directly to your trust here at the orphanage. You don't have an account with any third parties. They're pre-loaded with false information, so if the authorities look into it, they won't find anything of interest. L didn't mess around. You know that."

"So how is it that I can access my account? Does Roger know?" _This is way too much to comprehend. I need chocolate._

"No. He will in a while, I imagine, but I locked him out of the system. The only people who can get to your money are you and I. L probably _could've_, but he... yeah."

Mello sat down on his bed heavily. This had to be a joke. He'd open up the GameBoy and it would produce a long string of coding, unreadable to anyone who wasn't Matt. He'd swipe a credit card and be instantly arrested for using a stolen identity.

More importantly- or at least more interesting to think about- "How did you know I was leaving?"

Insert noncommittal shrug.

The confusion must've shown on his face, because Matt took a seat next to him and bumped their shoulders together. "Stop worrying and just go."

_So many things. How do I organize it all? Is this what it feels like to be average intelligence? I think my head is spinning. _

He let out a choked laugh. Matt raspberried before laughing as well. The atmosphere softened.

"I'll be here if you need me."

_I'll be here if you need me._ Those few words brought a sense of security with them, and the blonde let out a resigned breath.

"Okay. Thank you, Matt. Again."

Matt's mouth opened slightly, like he was about to say something else. His eyes were fixated at some point on Mello's forehead. The muscles of his face tensed up. "Mail."

_Mile? Milestone? This is a milestone in our relationship? Not that this can be considered- no, hardly. Mile... I have a ways to go? Is he saying I won't achieve what I'm aiming for? He doesn't even know what I'm aiming for..._ "Wha-"

"Never mind." Matt said quickly, turning his wide eyes to the window. "You'll do well, Mello. You're gonna go far."

With a slight nod, Mello stood, ruffled the messy hair of his friend, and carried his backpack out the door.

As he wandered down the hallway, he tried to memorize everything. One last look at his first real home.

The wallpaper was as smooth as ever; no wrinkles or tears in sight. The lighting remained soft. The paintings were still perfectly preserved. The wooden arches and vaulted ceilings continued to inspire his imagination. It was all beautiful.

It was probably the last time he'd ever live in such a place.

Many of the students stopped to stare. It was likely Roger spread the news of his departure already. What a fitting end. All his intellectual underlings would see him off.

With a confident smirk, Mello stalked by his "competition". They'd be hearing his name on the news soon enough.

He stopped outside the iron gates. There would be no turning back after this. Birds chirped softly, as if asking him not to leave. Leaving was, all things considered, idiotic. But it would benefit him in the long run. Dying in some heroic maneuver for justice was more appealing than dying of old age. He smiled to himself and started walking again.

_If I catch Kira, I'll be a hero. I'll be better than Near. I'll make L proud._

_No, not if. When._

_But how? "Alternative methods"... what does that mean? It means I'm going to have to kill. I'll have to sink down to Kira's level to catch him. I have to be someone else for a while. Someone stronger. Meaner. Better. There will be no regret, no sadness, weakness, laziness- only power. Power in the form of sheer brilliance. I think I can do that. Who cares if I look insane doing it? Once I establish an underground empire, no one will have the balls to say anything, anyway.  
><em>

_I will kill, steal, torture, blackmail, put my accomplices on trial if needed-_

_Trial, mile, Mail? Mail. That was his name. He told me his name._

Mello pondered the implications. If he added the day's events up, it all pointed to Matt actually giving a fuck. What a silly notion. He dismissed it.

_Funny how easy it is to become someone else._

Three minutes later, he was shivering violently. It was rather cold outside. This important fact hurried his mental processing. New priority: warmth.

Leather was warm.

From various outings, he knew there was a nice designer store a few streets away. It would also be a good idea to test his credit card. Better to be caught a mile from Wammy's than across the Atlantic Ocean. He jogged down the sidewalk, picturing what his heart must look like as it sped up. Anatomy had indeed been an interesting class.

The House. It was grandiose, but not as welcoming as Wammy's. He supposed stores weren't meant to look homey.

Slipping inside, he avoided the overly-chipper clerks and made his way to the men's section. There were coats and vests all over the place, but none that would fit his small frame. He frowned. Just because his muscles didn't bulge out of his shirt didn't mean he was a woman. How sexist.

_If I pretend to be a girl, would people start asking questions? Probably not. Admittedly. So I could get away with shopping in the women's department. Well, where the hell is that? The people who constructed the layout must've been high._

Mello found his way to the women's department, adding a small swing to his hips and a smile to his lips. Those drama classes had been nice, too. No one paid him any mind as he searched through the leather clothing. What would be warm, practical, and cruel?

Nothing light. It had to be black. Always black.

He pulled a biker's vest out of the rack. It was a medium- maybe a little snug for his manly toned muscles- nope, it fit fine. In fact, it would probably be a little loose once he tried it on without a shirt under it. Cursing under his breath, he checked the price. Two hundred and sixty dollars.

_How do they justify selling it for such a price? Oh, yeah. Some guy with a French name made it. Well, two hundred out of fifty thousand isn't horrible. It's comfortable. Warm. I think it'll show my stomach when I take this shirt off, though... eh._

"Finding everything okay?" A high pitched voice startled him. One of those older, makeup ridden ladies that talked too much. Great. He nodded and waved her off impatiently. Now was _not_ the time.

_Vest, now a coat... a nice coat, and I can practically toss my entire old wardrobe... fur... yes, fur... feathers? Oh, this is nice..._

"...and your total is one thousand two fifty two, even."

_Fuck. I didn't mean to spend that much. Okay, which credit card... I guess it doesn't matter._ He handed "Carly" a card at random and chewed the inside of his cheek. It would either work, or...

"Thank you for your purchases, miss. We hope to see you again!"

He grabbed his things and darted outside, not daring to believe his luck. A thousand dollars, and nothing happened? Matt was a god.

...Mail. Right.

_Time to change clothes. Not outside, too cold. Damn, I should've just asked to change before I left. I'll find somewhere. Somewhere dingy, cluttered, free of crowds so people won't ogle... ah._

Without a second thought, he ducked into a pawn shop. The quiet tinkling of a bell rang as the door closed. He drew his bags closer and glanced around. Dingy, but not dangerous. The cashier didn't acknowledge his presence.

_Deep breath, deep voice, stand up straight, chin up. Show nothing but power. This guy doesn't need to know how old you really are._ "Hey."

A grunt was his reply. Good enough. He hid behind some stocked shelves and began peeling his outfit off. It didn't really matter if an innocent shopper got an eyeful. The Kira case was at stake. Besides, these cotton clothes were way too kiddy for a murder investigation. Perhaps he could set them aflame later.

With some effort, Mello managed to pull on his new leather pants. They were nice and tight. No cold air would be assaulting _his_ junk, no sir. They also laced up at the front, a minor detail he found delightful. The vest, as predicted, was a little big on his lanky figure, but cozy nonetheless. The coat was from heaven.

He sneezed as some stray feathers tickled his nose. _That_ would take getting used to.

Change completed, he returned to the more open area of the shop, passing by piles of useless junk as he went. Instruments, books, tools, jewelry. Time was ticking, criminals were dying... there had to be something... but so far, not one item that could help him later.

_Well, that's functional fixation. I could probably use a dusty Gaelic dictionary to hit someone over the head. As a stool. Fuel for a fire. Record keeping. Food._

_Man, I'll just go find something somewhere else-_

Guns. Guns are useful.

Cold blue eyes took in the equally cold metal with interest. A gun could get him many places. But how to obtain one? He certainly wasn't of age, had no ID to prove it, and no license to own a firearm. That left the five-finger discount. But it was likely this man had seen a lot of thieves. He'd be expecting it, especially from a kid. So what to do...

"You lookin' to buy?" His nametag said "Mikey", but that probably wasn't accurate. Everyone whispered about Kira needing a name and a face to kill, so even someone like this would take precautions.

Mello drew himself up slightly. "What do you have that's sleek with a centerfire cartridge?"

"Centerfire? Going with self-defense? Can't argue with a 9mm, for that." The guy sounded wasted. Not good for business.

"Something... Italian." He eyed one of the guns pointedly. His hint was taken, and the glass case slid open. Mikey fumbled around with the gun for a while before setting it on the counter.

"Beretta 92F, 9mm, effective up to one hundred and sixty feet, semi-automatic and capable of holding twenty rounds in one magazine. Of course, I can't offer you anything over ten rounds, by law."

_Twenty rounds? Pretty efficient. Illegal, but..._ Mello picked up the gun and weighed it. _Not too heavy, thin design, simple aesthetics.._. "Can I test it?"

Mikey let out a warbled chuckle. "Not here. There's a shooting range in the back, but it'll cost you."

"How much?"

"Twenty bucks."

"That's all?" Mello smirked and tossed him a bill. His money disappeared into the fabric of a pocket instantly.

"Follow me."

They weaved through the junk and into a back room. Mikey jerked his head to another employee, who promptly took over the cashier. Through a room, outside, into a warehouse.

_I hope this guy doesn't think he can try anything. It wouldn't be hard to pin him down, especially with his obvious state of intoxication. If there are others, though... I may be outmatched. Damn, Mello. Watch where you follow people in the future. If this turns out to be a trap...  
><em>

It wasn't, thankfully. There really was a shooting range in the warehouse. He was provided with a set of grimy earplugs and a loaded gun. Another man joined Mikey- tall, thick, hairy. A worthy opponent. His appearance was presumably a safety thing. To be honest, the lax security was surprising. Anyone could walk into that pawn shop and ask to see a gun. No ID needed. Not smart.

Mello took aim at a target and fired. He missed completely. The gunshot rang in his ears.

Determined, he tried again, adjusting the angles. Missed again. He could hear guffaws coming from behind him. With an annoyed growl, he fired without aiming. His bullet flew through the paper man's stomach. The laughing stopped.

He winced as his earplugs were pulled away. "First time shooter?"

"No. Just been a while." _Fabricate a story, in case you need it later... okay... I was born into a family that lived off what they could kill..._

"Hmm. You know, you look awfully young to be firing a gun."

"My dad was a hunter." Mello narrowed his eyes, fingering his weapon. Time to run for it.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." _It's not entirely untrue. He just didn't shoot deer. Now if I disarm this guy, that'll leave Mikey alone..._

"I tell you what. If you can get a bulls-eye, next try, I'll give you that gun, free of charge."

_Stall, stall. I have to think of a plan._ "What about the ammo?"

"'m afraid you'll have to pay for that."

_Got it._ "How about, if I get a bulls-eye, next try, you give me the gun, a twenty round magazine, ammo, and a space to crash, indefinitely- free of charge?" _Sound confident. I'm powerful, immortal, dangerous. Add some spice to that arrogant facial expression..._

The hairy guy looked shocked. Mikey just hacked up some bile. He really needed to lay off the alcohol.

"And if you miss?" The shock was gone, replaced by a predatory gleam.

"Then you give me all that and I _don't_ use my next two bullets to shoot you." _I only have one bullet left, they know I only have one left, but they don't know I know..._

"Ha. Kid, you have some spunk. Fine. Take your shot." _He's lying. Doesn't matter. I take the shot, spin back, knock big hairy out, and tip Mikey over-_

Several loud bangs came from his right. The three of them scattered. Mello leaped behind a cabinet and paused to take inventory. Those were gunshots, too quick in succession to come from one gun, so there must be more than one threat...

Another shot and a resounding "ugh". Mikey flopped to the floor, blood pouring out of his wound. His eyes glazed over with death. Mello swallowed thickly and tried to unclog his mind. This was real, and very serious. If he wanted to live, he would have to eliminate the danger, and unless he could find another weapon, he only had one bullet to go on. Now, 9mm guns were infamous for shooting through a target entirely, but for _that_ to work...

Might as well try.

He grabbed a broken piece of glass off the floor and used it as a mirror. Four guys, all armed. Mr. Hairy was nowhere to be seen.

"There's someone behind that box!" _Way to point out the obvious_. A shard of glass flew through the air. Shurikens were never his specialty, but he knew the basics.

"Shit!" _Sounds like it hit something. Okay, okay, I see the exit, but I have to get there. I need a distraction. Throw something, anything._

Mello balled his old clothes up and tossed them into the range, squeezing his eyes shut as more gunshots rang out. He sprinted forward in the opposite direction, hiding the gun in his coat. If they knew he had a pistol, it would complicate things. People acted differently when faced with something life-threatening...

"There he is!" Bullets whizzed by, and for a few seconds, it seemed like the end. Luckily, the black clothes blended well with the darkness of the warehouse, making him difficult to aim at. Near would've been dead already. He smiled and took refuge behind a wall.

_Think, think. _

_Ah.  
><em>

_Perfect._

Three, two- BANG.

"...looks like you got yourself a place to stay."

* * *

><p><strong>I don't own the House (of Fraser). It's England's equivalent to Nordstrom's. :D<br>**

**Also, if you look up pictures of Mello's gun, it does seem to be a Beretta 92F, from the shape of the trigger guard to the small hook for his dangling cross.  
><strong>

**I _really_ hope that was worth the wait ;~; We're back to a weekly update until the last chapter ^^ Tell me what you think?  
><strong>


	11. Feel Good Inc

Mello swallowed the terror and arranged his face carefully. He looked up at Hairy with a smug grin. "That's more like it."

Blood pooled slowly around the lifeless bodies. Four pairs of empty eyes stared into space. The room felt cold. Instinctively, he shrunk into his coat. Not even three hours out of Wammy's, and there was a body count.

At least he'd beaten Beyond.

Gathering his things with a half-hearted flourish, he waited for Hairy's next words. Likely to be orders.

"I'll call someone to get these fuckers out of here. There might be more lurking around, so go back to the shop and stay in the back, yeah?" Hairy kicked one of the bodies. It flopped helplessly. Mello felt like throwing up. True to his new image, however, he held his head high and left the range confidently.

_I killed someone. Not just one. Four. Four men. Four lives._

_No. Pushing emotions away. Keeping calm. I can think later. Hairy wants me out of the building.__ Secure safety now._

His boots crunched through the snow. Sharp eyes watched for any signs of movement; trauma aside, if there were more hooligans out there, early detection would be desirable. A car horn blared in the distance. A stray cat's scrabbles came from the nearby dumpsters. A cool breeze ruffled the feathers of his coat. His nose itched as it was tickled. He smiled slightly. The serenity of the outside world made crimes seem worse. Who could kill a man when it was so nice out here?

Probably Matt. He hated nature.

Matt.

Mello huffed, sliding inside regretfully and eying the single employee present. "Carl". Stupid name. Stupid guy. He clearly had no idea what just occurred in the warehouse; music was screaming from a set of worn headphones. There would've been no way for him to hear an approaching killer. If it wasn't for Mello, he'd probably be dead.

_What kind of place is this, anyway? They must be in with some sharks or something. Hairy knows about it, but this guy mustn't. No one expecting trouble lets their guard down so easily. Mikey was either involved, or just unfortunate. Anyway... the attackers were probably after something... for what other reason would they take the time to infiltrate a shooting range? If they wanted to jack random shit, they would've come to the shop first. Since this idiot is still alive, they obviously didn't. So they knew about the shooting range, they knew we were there..._

_I can work on that later, I guess. Hairy told me to stay in the back. Staying hidden would be better.._._ if there really are more... then I'd need the advantage of surprise. And another weapon. Where to go, where to go..._

Obedience. Gross. Gross, yet necessary. If he could really get a place to stay out of all this, it'd be worth it, and once the appropriate position of power was attained, he'd be the one giving orders. A few months of this would be fine. The ends justify the means, right? He tucked his bag away under a desk and immersed himself in a collection of leather jackets. The fabric of his own clothing blended perfectly, but the hair...

_Maybe I should dye it a different color. It'd be cool to have red hair. Red hair and blue eyes... wacky combo. I'd be famous in the underworld for my eccentric sense of style. Is that good? Is being physically recognizable good, in this industry?_

_What even is this industry? Four men, armed and expecting resistance, assaulted the shooting range of a run down pawn shop. What does that suggest? There's something of value here? Someone of value? A score to settle? It could be any number of things. I didn't see anything expensive or rare on the shelves, none of the guns were really "special", I don't think Hairy would have sent me to the back if he was storing a precious good... so that indicates personal vendetta._

_A dangerous industry with interpersonal conflicts._

_The mafia._

_Is that possible? In England? Well, of course it's possible, but likely? What are the chances I waltzed out of Wammy's and ended up caught in the throes of some family disputes? How could something like this exist so close to L's orphanage? No, he wouldn't have allowed it. What does that mean? If Hairy is the one they want, then he probably stays low-key... maybe only shows up a few times a week... come to think of it, he wasn't in the store at all, so he might just stay in the range._

_The mafia? What if... someone... recognizes me?  
><em>

Forgoing that train of thought entirely, Mello raised the feathered hood and sighed. This would be a long adventure. The smell of processed animal skin was strangely comforting. He inhaled deeply. Not as comforting as-

"Hey, blondie." Hairy's voice called out. With a cringe, Mello poked his head out of the coat rack.

"Sir?" He tried to resist clenching his teeth. The respectful term came out choked.

"Call me Harry." _Ha. Ha ha._ "You sure you've never fired in self defense before?" The man's thick lips twitched with amusement.

_I think I'd know._ "Got lucky, I guess." Mello shrugged, attempting to look sheepish. His response was acceptable, apparently, because Harry nodded.

"Damn lucky. They've been giving us shit for a while, now. Thanks to you, we're in the clear. You wanted a place to stay? You've got the range. Set up your own bed, get your own food, don't bother us in here." Harry waved his hand dismissively. Mello retrieved his bag and returned outside, processing everything.

_I've got the range, huh? Sure, let me sleep in the place that was just attacked. He probably thinks I'll make a nice alarm, if anyone else breaks in. Fine by me. I can set up a pretty nice place to work out of. A little close to Wammy's, but it shouldn't be a problem. I know when they have group outings. I can avoid those easily. Maybe I should dye my hair, though. A different hair color and a new set of clothes might give me the visual edge I'd need to escape anyone who knows me. That can come later. For now, there's a home to be built.  
><em>

_What if they decide to kill me? What if I've "seen too much"? That's a possibility. How would I counter that? I need insurance. I need an ace in the hole._

_That could be counter intuitive. If I find evidence, that's another reason to kill me. I can't trust them. Of course not. I know nothing about them, and I mean nothing to them- they wouldn't have any problems with getting rid of some kid. There has to be a way to ensure my safety. If all else fails, I could just leave a get a motel. I have enough money to last a while, as long as it's somewhere cheap. But that is a later resort. Why spend money when there's room here? Back to trust issues. So what would L do? Okay, L wouldn't be here. Matt?_

_Matt likes to be ignored. So he'd... he'd make it look like he wasn't even here. You don't try and kill someone who isn't around, right? Out of sight, out of mind? Is that plausible?  
><em>

Mello pulled a chocolate bar from his bag and snapped off a piece, thinking hard. There was no "best" answer. It all depended on the temperament of his hosts and the severity of their crimes. He glanced at his surroundings. The bodies were gone, blood wiped away. There were still red stains on the concrete. They had some sort of emergency protocol in place already. That was definitely suspicious. Best to assume these guys were in some serious shit.

So, in terms of safety, where would the best stakeout area be? If he went with Matt's thinking patterns, it'd be somewhere Harry didn't even know about. Ideally, a setup in any cupboards or holes...

He set out to find a glitch in the construction. He tapped the walls, listening for any change in consistency. He checked behind boxes, shelves, storage areas, under furniture. Thoroughness was key.

Ten minutes passed. Preexisting space was a no-go.

That left making one.

_What's unused... or what could be used without their knowing... I could turn a filing cabinet into a room... if I took out the drawers, sanded down the insides, glued the fronts of the drawers together to make a door... no, I couldn't sleep in that. Make a small box out of shelves? No, stupid. Cut a hole in the wall. Not something I could reasonably do without attracting attention. It's a good idea, though. What would Matt do... Matt likes to be ignored..._

A few more squares of chocolate were swallowed before the light bulb came on.

_This room is soundproofed. It has to be. That means there'll be insulation in the walls, but more importantly..._

Mello made his way inside the range, passing by paper targets. There were bullets and dust bunnies littered on the floor. It hadn't been cleaned recently. Upon reaching the very back of the range and knocking on the wall, he smirked to himself. Time to lay out the plans.

Several hours later, he had gathered all the necessary tools, and was ready to tear up some wood. This would, by no means, be quiet, so if anyone were to enter the building, he'd need to stop right away. A trip to the store had solved that problem; a newly purchased camera monitored the door and sent a live feed to his laptop (the netbook was still at Wammy's). This was exactly the type of thing they learned how to do in their technology classes, and knowing Matt just made it easier.

First step: remove the bullet absorbing material from the wall. It was, from his examination, just a panel of whatever-it-was resting against the _real_ wall. A few hesitant pokes confirmed his suspicions. With little effort, he managed to tip the thing over and reveal a new, squishy substance. This place really was cheap. Any self-respecting shooting range would have more advanced equipment; this thing was supposed to deal with bullets, for Christ's sake?

To be fair, this "range" was probably a cover up for something else. Cover ups weren't usually well crafted. Especially not by second-rate thugs like Harry.

Crossing his gloved fingers, Mello revved up the drill. He glanced at the surveillance worriedly. Defensive strategies were lacking. This would have to be fast. With a deep breath, he started by making small holes in the corkboard-like material. Half an inch wide, half an inch deep. Just enough to get a pocket knife in and begin picking at the squishy cover.

It was a tad more stuck than expected. He set down the knife and thought quickly. There was still no one here, but nothing was ever guaranteed. He had two options: chainsaw (enough said) or more knife work. He went with knife work.

Taking a different approach, Mello carved a neat line into the wall. He made sure the tip of the knife grazed the wood underneath- not an easy feat. The bullet absorbing "stuff" went a good four inches in. Once there was an appropriately sized slice, he started pulling. There was no time to be graceful about it; he used all the strength in his arms to tear the "stuff" from the wood. It peeled off with a loud ripping noise. Mello turned to the video feed, waiting a few moments before continuing.

When there was a good area of open wood, he grabbed a screwdriver and removed several panels of it. The leather gloves received much praise that day. Not a single splinter found its way to his sensitive skin. Behind the wood, there was a wall of fluff. Insulation, as expected. He pumped a fist in victory before grabbing handfuls and tossing them aside. Time was ticking. Still no one.

Quite the pile of insulation accumulated behind him. It smelled faintly of mold. Mello blanched and climbed inside the now open space. There would need to be some serious air freshening.

It was big enough for him to lay down in. Standing would be a bit more difficult, but it's not like he'd be throwing dance parties or anything. It would do for his purposes.

Mello sighed with relief. There was hope.

_Okay, leave my bag in here, replace the wood panels, but don't screw them in- paint them black, and put the bullet-absorbing stuff on top. Get rid of the insulation and the corkboard stuff. Easy._

It didn't take as long as he thought it would. Twenty minutes later, there were no obvious traces of his alterations. He hadn't changed the first layer of protective covering at all. The only way anyone could possibly notice was if they decided to remove the cover themselves and take the time to look at the differing surface consistencies. It wasn't foolproof, he knew, but if things went according to plan, it wouldn't have to be.

Next on the list was obtaining the ammo and maintenance materials required for his gun. Once he had all _that_, anyone who came knocking on his door would get a bullet to the face. Point blank.

Nothing short of excellence. He was from Wammy's, after all. The most advanced educational system for orphaned children on the face of the planet.

Now was not the time for gloating, however. Mello slid behind the various layers of "stuff" and curled into his new home. Insulation was soft, and so could be used as a pillow. Whatever articles of clothing that had survived the massacre would work as blankets. Not that it was cold. Along with soundproofing the place, insulation... well, insulated. The heat of his body would be as good a furnace as any, in here.

He stole another glance at the security footage. No one in sight. It probably wouldn't hurt to have that measure running constantly. The camera was wired into the electrical cords, and the laptop _could_ be wired in. Work for another day.

Mello laid down hesitantly. It was extremely dark, and would be black once the computer was off. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Still not worth wasting flashlight batteries just yet. He shut down his laptop and nuzzled into the fluff. It really did reek.

_I got my hiding place. Now what? I'm tired, I should sleep. They won't find me. They'll be busy with damage control. For one night, at least, I can reap the rewards of being smart. This is pretty fucking cool. No need to lie. All the tools, incisions, heavy lifting... all me. I'd like to see Near even try to pick up a wood panel. He'd drop it on his foot and start crying. Yeah. I won't do too bad, in the real world. Or is that badly? Fuck grammar. I'm not a student anymore. I'm Mello. I'm the best._

_...I'm a killer._

He shut his eyes. The crimson puddles wouldn't erase themselves from his head.

_Is this what Beyond Birthday felt?_

_No. He didn't feel anything._

_...but I've already matched the tally marks. Four, four. Does that mean I don't feel anything?_

_What do I feel?_

Satisfaction? Fear? Guilt? Arrogance?

Killing a person, a living human being, was a grandiose jump from hacking computers for tidbits of information. Would it be justified? Would those four lives mean something, if he caught Kira? Was there a limit to how many people could die at his hands before it was no longer worth it? Was it okay to sacrifice some for many?

_Do_ the ends justify the means?

Mello picked at his clothes in agitation. Skin-tight leather was not fun to sleep in. Running away from Harry with a gun while naked would not be fun either. He sighed.

_I don't think my brain was meant to handle these types of questions. I can try anyway. Challenge accepted. Kira has killed hundreds, thousands of people. All criminals. One might say this is good. A purist might say this is bad. Argument being, of course, that killing criminals puts you on their level. Weak argument, if you ask me. No one is asking about Kira's own morality. The point is- he's making the world a better place. Cleaner. Happier. Safer. Once crime stops completely, so will he. He might end up killing himself. That's unlikely, though. He'd want to oversee the new world. He'd choose a successor. Just like L._

_Yes, Kira is quite a bit like L._

_Except more efficient. L spent his time catching criminals and locking them away. We use our money to pay for them to remain alive. Money that could be going to orphanages, education, cures for diseases, feeding the hungry... money that's being wasted on people who had their chance and fucked it up. Kira is fixing that problem._

_L fought crime in his own way. Kira's doing the same thing._

_If both are (were) fighting for a better world, do the ends justify the means?_

_What would Matt say? Matt probably doesn't care one way or the other. He admits to liking games more than people. But I think he would say, "Whatever gets the job done". The ends would justify the means, to him._

_Unless... well, he refuses to use cheat codes, even if that means it takes longer to finish a game. Maybe Kira's killing method would be comparable to a cheat code. Kira doesn't need any real contact with a victim to kill. Does that mean it's cheating? Matt doesn't like cheating._

_Holy shit. Stop it, Mihael. Who cares what Matt thinks?_

_What about me?_

_Is it okay to kill people to stop people from killing people? Does that make sense? Not really. But if all killing was stopped after a certain quota was reached... oh, fuck. Whatever. Kira can do his thing, and I'll catch him. Whatever it takes. I'll beat Near. _

_But I think I'll need some guidance._

_Tomorrow... tomorrow, I need to find a church.  
><em>

With that sentiment on his mind, Mello dozed off.

...and woke up with a gasp. Pain rocked through his nerves, and he bit back the urge to scream. _  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Christmas (sorry, coughpoliticallycorrectcough<strong>**_ winter_****) break starts on Tuesday ^^ So I imagine chapters will be longer, and _possibly_ updated on a bi-weekly basis. It'd be nice to finish this before school starts up again. But shhhh.**

**...what do you think happened? :O**


	12. Hail Mary Jane

_FUCK_.

Mello gripped his leg tightly and hissed. He could feel the blood oozing over his fingers. A beam of light sliced through the dark- there was bullet hole in the newly altered wall. Oh, _shit_.

_How the hell-_

Later. His leg felt like it was on fire.

_Deep breath. Don't freak. If there's a bullet in my leg, I need to figure out what kind of wound it is and treat it accordingly. Freaking out will only make my heart beat faster. Not good. Okay. Calm. Calm. This is a shooting range, right? So it was probably a handgun, low caliber, slow speed- no, no. Treat the wound, not the gun. Where's the damn flashlight..._

He rummaged around in the insulation to find his backpack. Thankfully, it was within reach, and so was visibility. He flicked the flashlight on for a proper examination.

...'twas but a flesh wound.

He exhaled slowly. It still hurt like _fuck_, though, and there was blood everywhere. From the looks of it, the bullet had snipped through several layers of skin, just over the... what was it, the posterior tibial artery? And gotten lost in the insulation. Mello steadied himself and thought back to his health class. It was a tangenital wound, the subcutaneous tissue would be torn, and this would require little more than a bandage. No, it would probably need stitches. Antibiotics, disinfectant, stitches, and bandages. He chewed the inside of his cheek furiously. At least it hadn't hit any major veins.

_How the fuck am I supposed to get all that and keep my leg elevated? And what about the source of the bullet? Will there be more coming? How am I even getting out of here? Shit, shit, shit, I need to clean my hands, they're probably filthy, and there's probably germs crawling around in the laceration already... fucking hell..._

His hands were shaking, and every movement sent pain stinging through the broken skin. Mello grit his teeth as he felt the flaps of loosened flesh under his fingers. It was like having a hangnail of gigantic proportions. On your leg.

Time to act. He crawled over to the useless wall and pressed an ear against the cool wood, listening for sounds of life. Nothing. Then again, it was thick wood, covered by a "bullet-proof" substance. Poor advertising, if you asked him.

He sat, cradling the bleeding mess, pondering his options. If he stayed hidden, there would be no chance of getting caught, but he might bleed out or die of infection. If he made a break for the streets, he could be shot, tortured, run over, mugged, or any other number of unpleasant things. He could also live. Neither way seemed sure-fire.

What was life without some risk, though? Mello grabbed his bag and stuffed the laptop and flashlight back into place, grabbing a random article of clothing to use as a bandage.

Fuck, he'd have to buy new pants. Did the gun-wielding imbecile _know_ how much these _cost_?

Swearing under his breath, he nudged at the wooden wall. It shifted slightly, but didn't give way. With a groan of annoyance, the flaw in his plans made itself evident. He hadn't really accounted for the need to leave. If he just pushed at the wood, the layers of material would fall over, certainly, but it wouldn't be quiet, and he'd then be exposed. A small boy at the back of a shooting range with nowhere to hide. Target practice, anyone?

_Good one, Mihael. Real smooth._

As the seconds ticked on, he started to feel a little lightheaded. His genius brain deduced it was the blood loss and panic setting in.

...Ha. Haha. Near's light headed. 'Cause. His hair.

He scrunched his face up angrily. Of all times to board the incorrect train of thought. If his (fucking _expensive_) gloved hands weren't soaked in blood, he would've slapped himself. This was serious. And, as everyone knows, serious circumstances call for serious solutions. With a grunt, he shoved at the wall and started running. To hell with the noise; if he didn't get out of that shithole soon, he'd be swimming in blood. At least, that's what his survival instincts told him. No bullets whizzed by his head, miraculously, and he found the range to be empty. A saving grace.

Maybe not. Every time his foot hit the pavement, the shredded strips of skin on his leg wrinkled and bunched up. Were he not anticipating the appearance of a deadly foe any second now, he'd be howling in pain.

_Push through. This is nothing. It's just a little cut. It'll be fine. Just have to get out, get this elevated, get some stitches... I can't go to the hospital, though. Shit..._

Mello burst through the door and kept going, traces of blood staining the snow in his wake. He didn't pay any attention to the slow numbness encasing the wound. Escape was first priority. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he wasn't being followed. They probably didn't even realize he'd been there in the first place. That was ideal.

A few minutes later, he was crouched behind a dumpster in some abandoned alley, wheezing his lungs out of their home. His throat felt raw from such intense inhalation of Winchester's merciless winter air. Mello brushed his mussed hair away impatiently. Safety had been secured; now for healing. Where could he find stitches and antibiotics without an ID? A drugstore? Would they have anything serious enough? Even if they did, it was likely some stoned store clerk would call 911 to report the injury anyway.

A gust of cool wind lapped at his coat teasingly. He drew himself in further and shivered. Would... he have to go back to Wammy's?

_No. That's defeat. There's another way. There's always a way. Functional fixation, Mello. Stop looking at this in such a straight-laced manner. You need disinfectant? Grab some rubbing alcohol from a store. Cover the wound up. Get in, get out, easy as cake._

_L liked cake._

_Stitches? Get a needle and thread. It's unconventional and unsafe, but it'll work well enough. People have survived with some pretty crazy self-medication. I can just say I need to repair some clothing, if anyone asks. Antibiotics? I have... a yeast infection. Or something. Can guys get yeast infections? God, I hope not._

Mello tapped his foot anxiously. The makeshift bandage was soaked through. There weren't a lot of choices left. He rose to his feet, hauling the battered backpack along, and limped out into the streets. There was a store down a few blocks, but traffic was dismal, and there were people everywhere.

_I can't let my face be seen too often. Especially not in suspicious context like this. I fucking hate alleys, but it's probably the quickest way. Just watch- I'll get attacked by some loony, and all this will have been for nothing. What would Matt say? He'd probably start laughing.  
><em>

There was something soothing about the smokey shadows of city life. Sprinting in the darkness like a wild animal, hidden to the normal citizens of a town, free to observe them as he pleased. To be fair, it was likely someone watched the watchers. And someone watched them. And them. A cycle of watching, waiting, hunting. Society housed many different planes of existence that too rarely interchanged pleasant greetings.

Labored breaths were the only sound he made as he tore through the backstreets, dodging stray cats and random hobos. Just another two blocks, and- _wham!_

He skidded to a stop, silencing his mouth hurriedly. A woman was screaming her head off. Presumably asking for help. It was kind of hard to tell.

_Of course. A purse-snatcher. Why didn't I think of it? Probably a safer way to get money.  
><em>

The dark figure of a thin man darted away, carrying the lady's belongings. Mello glanced at her terrified face, and almost felt pity. Almost. She didn't look intelligent enough to have foreseen such occurrences, which was sad, but made the incident her fault.

Well, not _her_ fault. She didn't steal her own purse. Main idea still conveyed.

He gave her the best "I'm sorry for your loss" look before continuing on his way. Bimbo could probably afford thirty other purses just like it. That shit was Prada.

_Okay, blood not gushing anymore, that's good. Run in, buy stuff, run out, find place to stitch up, and... sleep somewhere. Later. After food. Oh, food._

_Wait. Fuck.  
><em>

His leather gloves were caked with blood and dirt. Not conducive to success. He let out an agitated sigh and buried his hands in a pile of snow, swishing them around. It was water, after all- and the gloves were likely to be ruined forever anyway. Mello checked over the rest of his ensemble. A few streaks a red here and there, nothing too noticeable. It would have to do. The longer he waited, the more time the wound was leaking life fluids and mixing with God-knows-what was in the air.

He winced as the sliding doors welcomed him like a king. A lame, incompetent king. There were a handful of customers shopping along to some overplayed Christmas tunes. Was it that time already?

No one gave him a second glance when they passed by. Apparently, androgynous leather-wearing teenagers were common around here. Thank fuck. Aqua eyes dragged over shelves of merchandise desperately. Where was the damned hydrogen peroxide...

Three aisles down. The glorious brown bottle sat on a low shelf, innocently taunting him with promises of cleanliness and relief. That bastard. Mello snatched it up and proceeded through the store, adding gauze and sewing materials as he went.

_All these things combined kind of indicate what they shouldn't indicate. How to get around that..._

A hastily implemented backtracking plan worked just fine. He sauntered up to one register, clutching the brown bottle, purchased it, and returned to the aisles for his other items in quick succession. One cashier gave him a look, as if she'd noticed, but Mello smoothed it over with a "Forgot this for my mum. She's fixing up some clothes, see. Little Mary's gone and torn 'er dress..."

Back outside, blocks of ice escaped his lips where breath should be. Fucking England and its fucking weather. Mello scoffed. As if a kid dressed completely in animal skins would go shopping for his "mum". Yeah. He retreated into a secluded park and began setting up the doctor's office. Anyone who came waltzing on by would just have to deal with the gore. There simply wasn't time to find a better location. Kids, don't try this at home.

First up was the hydrogen peroxide. Regrettably, there was nothing for his teeth to maul as he stifled the screams. Bubbles started to cover his leg, burning away all the dirt and grime accumulated within the wrecked tissues. His fingers tore at the gravel anxiously.

_Anyone that thinks water on a paper cut legitimately hurts hasn't lived. Fucktards._

As the bubbles fizzled away into a pounding daze of hurt, he grabbed the sewing materials. Thread the needle with trembling hands, thread the skin with shaking fingers... this was obviously going to end badly. Bad was still better than dismal.

Mello chewed the inside of his cheek. Novocaine would be the best early Christmas gift ever.

_No time for weakness. Kira's out there, killing criminals like it's nobody's fucking business, and here I am, whining over a minor gunshot wound, borne out of my own stupidity. What would L say?_

Without another thought, he plunged the needle in. It didn't feel like anything. The combination of cold and peroxide produced... numbness. A smile stole his otherwise austere features. Just like how bridges freeze before roads, protruding body parts freeze before anything else. Funny how things like that worked out.

A family of three walked by, the little girl coming dangerously close to his hiding spot. He crossed his fingers. It wouldn't do for such a young child to see a broken body so soon in life. Thankfully, the family kept moving.

His blood was thick and slow, like sludge. Like... Muk. From Pokémon. An expendable scrap of a creature, to be used for experimental testing only. And, as Matt had pointed out, a clever disguise for the perverted nature of the Nintendo creators. You know how Arbok is Kobra and Ekans is Snake? Yeah. Muk.

Within a few minutes, however, the blood was gone, and a messy stitching job in its place. Mello surveyed his work proudly. It had stung like hell in some areas, and it wasn't particularly accurate, what with his constant shuddering, but it was closed. This was a definite victory. Near wouldn't have had the balls.

He bandaged the thing and looked around, body aching for warmth and nutrition. There must be a diner around somewhere. His stomach growled anxiously. Mello hauled himself to his feet. It would hurt to walk. He cursed the human anatomy. Leg muscles moved for the sole purpose of disturbing healing epidermis, obviously.

Mello allowed himself a lazy smile. Not bad, for a sheltered rookie.

_Not bad at all. But food._

Securing his backpack, he trudged back to the bustling streets. Now that his wound was safely hidden, there wouldn't be much need for such strict security measures. To everyone out there today, Mihael Keehl was just a kid, looking for somewhere to eat. The startling desire for normalcy swept over him for a moment. These people were damned lucky.

/

"There you are, one cup of hot chocolate. Are you ready to order?" Blonde, pretty, good-natured. Like his mother.

"Yeah. Could I have the French Toast Deuces Wild? Scrambled eggs with bacon." How he loved all-day breakfast menus. She jotted down his request and took the menu, sashaying away. Mello relaxed in the booth. His body cried out in thanks. There were only a few other souls here; it wasn't quite lunch time, but not quite dinner time yet, either. A little tranquility couldn't hurt.

_I should elevate this._

After raising his leg to rest on the booth, he sipped his hot chocolate tiredly. It was hard to believe... only a few hours ago, sleep had been his close friend.

_Damn. That hideout was great. There would've been no need for Circadian rhythm, in a place like that. Now that I'm out here, everything seems really bright. Almost obnoxious. I'm exhausted, but it's midday. The light keeps my melatonin from working properly. That might be an issue, later. Man, what went wrong..._

A few minutes slipped by. He didn't reach any conclusions. Not that it mattered. That path was out; he had to find somewhere else to stay.

The sentiment was lost as his food arrived. Mello exhaled gratefully and got to work. It may have only been a day since he left, but it felt like an eternity, to his stomach. A few wispy thoughts of time perception drifted around within the confines of his mind as he stuffed his face.

Not too long after, the bill was paid, and he was officially loitering. There still weren't many customers present, so he wasn't taking up space, but the waitress was eying him curiously. Eh. She could wait. Slender fingers entangled themselves in his straight blonde strands.

_Why was Near always fucking with his hair? Does it help him think? Is it like L's weird way of sitting? Oh, L... L is dead._

It was a bold, unarguable fact.

But somehow, he wasn't. Ryuzaki- panda man- was gone, but the legacy survived. All the students at Wammy's held some bit of L with them. Mello supposed the detective was in a better place. How could someone with such pure intentions go anywhere else? A comforting idea. Regardless of the outcome, he'd find a home somewhere up there, too.

Mello rose, slinging his backpack along. A list of objectives began to write itself in the back of his mind. Place to stay, replacement attire, church. In any order. The soft _crunch_ of snow under leather boots served as a metronome to the thought patterns. Criminals were dying. Near was working this case already, he assumed. Matt... Matt was probably holed up in his room, playing the newest release of... what? Zaldorf? Zoey?

Zelda. That's right.

_Idiot. I wonder... would he have really been okay leaving, too?_ Upon reflection, Mello snorted. _No. There's no way he could carry all of his games and wires and consoles and shit around. There is no bag big enough on the face of the- hey, isn't that..._

Prada?

He slowed his gait, watching the man hurry around a corner. Purse-snatcher. What kind of thief would flash a stolen purse like that?

_If he's that stupid, he's likely to be working alone. And he's so scrawny... even with this injury, I could take him._

Devoid of any further logical processing, he rounded the corner as well, skimming the scene. It was another backstreet. Of course. The man was indeed alone- blabbering away on his cell phone. A moment of curious hesitation, and Mello was securely hidden in a thicket of shadow, straining his ears.

"...bag... cash... on way..."

_...so the bag's got cash, and he's bringing it back to base. I guess he's not alone. But if he's out here, that makes him the pawn, not the brains. Grunt work guy, huh. I suppose this is drug related. He can't stop fidgeting. He might be involved in something big..._

Mello smirked as his prey fumbled with the expensive bag. Definitely high. This could be worth looking into. If it really was some sort of drug lab or cartel, a lot of potential lie in infiltration.

Following the twitchy bastard was too easy. He clearly didn't know how to check his tail. They proceeded through the maze of Winchester, walking until the sky began to darken. Mello tried not to groan with exasperation. His leg _hurt_, dammit. The stitches were throbbing insistently.

_Too late to turn back now, though. No idea where the fuck I am. This'll have to wait. If I'm lucky, and this is based in an apartment, I can just camp outside for a while. Better yet, if that apartment has any open rooms available..._

He was lucky. Kind of.

The complex was falling apart; peeling paint, dented walls, cracked windows. Not the best place for a Kira investigation. Then again, would that be unexpected? Would shitty surroundings be less suspicious than high-end hotels? Or would Kira expect the unexpected, and thus be more cautious of slums? Mello waved away the bickering psychological debates in favor of espionage. He drew his hood up to hide the blonde hair that continued to plague him. It was pretty, not practical. If sneaking around was going to be a thing, now, the hair would have to change.

Sorry, mom.

He crept through the landscaping quietly. One sound and the overactive senses of Mr. High would catch him. Though, there were no others as of yet, so a fight between them certainly wouldn't pose any threat to Mello, bullet wound or no.

It didn't take long for his theory to be confirmed. A group of guys, differing in sizes and displayed intelligence, were gathered in one of the more ruined apartments. There was a chunk of glass missing from the window, and so Mello eavesdropped freely. A few minutes of their conversation told them everything he needed. Another few minutes, the plan was drafted.

He stowed his backpack away and cracked his knuckles. Showtime.

With a roundhouse kick to the door, he was in. Instant commotion. Men were yelling, shit was flying at him, someone was closing in- until he shoved a gun against the guy's head, that is.

Silence fell.

_Back straight, head high. Exude confidence_. "Purse. Now."

"What, is it yours?" One of the men sneered. Mello allowed his attention to flicker slightly. _Keep fronting._

"It is now." Some scattered laughter was his response.

_They think I won't shoot. The, "If he was going to kill, he would have already," thing. True. I have no bullets._

He whipped the pistol across a face at random. _Like I need bullets._

They rushed him from all directions and he hit the floor, calculating their (lack of) reaction time. The satisfying _crack_ of skulls came from above. He rolled out of the way to avoid their falling bodies. Getting pinned wouldn't be helpful. With a hiss, he regained his footing and glanced around. Moving still fucking hurt. Better hurry this up.

_Two on the floor, one making a run for it, and one-_

Strong arms grabbed him from behind and tossed the thin frame of his body against a wall. Stars exploded in his head. _Ow_.

An indignant growl escaped him. He was not going down like this. He was not going down, period. A few milliseconds of mental recovery, and- _wall, ground, big guy. Tai Chi._ A surge of anger fueled his aching muscles. _Chen wouldn't approve. But then, Chen wouldn't be here in the first place._

His opponent was toppled by his own weight, and the pistol was immediately brought against his skull. Mello kicked him for a little more emotional relief.

_Three down, one gone. I don't think he'll be back soon, unless he has a pack of extra rats... even so. We'll move somewhere else before then._

He began sifting through Prada's contents. Makeup, money, vitamin C, perfume, tampons, birth control pills, anti-depressants, condoms, sunglasses, fucking _DVDs_, a lighter and some cigarettes. Bitch was prepared. At least she still had her phone, wherever she was. A few flicks in the ruffled wallet produced a name and address. He made a mental note to send her things back when there was time.

Something small and silver caught his eye. A dainty cross was hanging off one of the randomly placed zippers. Mello tilted his head to clear it; the sweet smell of weed was clouding over his thoughts already. Really, he was doing her a huge favor, by sending the bag back. She wouldn't miss a charm.

A few tweaks and the cross was his, chain and all. It clasped to the butt of his pistol as if they were made for each other. Far too easy to be coincidence.

Fuck if anything in the real world was easy.

The real world was a screwed up place. So many people hiding behind themselves, their lives. Projecting whatever it was they thought ideal. Do people have the right to lie about their own identity? If faking their personality made them feel better, gave them confidence- was it okay? Confidence reaped rewards, that's for sure. So if confidence was good, arrogance must be better, right?

Mello snapped at a chocolate bar, surveying his new lackeys. He could do arrogant.

* * *

><p><strong>...so I started watching Misfits. Possibly the best decision of my life. Yeah. Um.<strong>

**I hope this wasn't too gory? I've read a _lot_ worse, but I've seen some people go pale at less, so each to their own. :D I'm _much_ more fond of writing this adventury stuff. It's easier. Flows better. Mello's monologues can be difficult. Idiot has a mind of his own, always cockblocking- I mean, idea and writerblocking... **

**Ah, I consider B's death his own doing, even though Kira killed him, so that makes four bodies. Sorry if that bothered you. ^^;  
><strong>

**You guys have an awesome Christmas (holiday season, if you don't believe in the Claus), and stay safe! No drinking while driving, make sure you can see out of your car windows, etc. Please tell me what you think, if you have the time. I'm writing this for you guys, so your input is always appreciated. Hee.  
><strong>


	13. Mello's Drug Cartel Takeover

"'das one expensive purse, though."

"If she's in tears about her damn purse, she's not going to be doing much for the economy, and subsequently, the supplies you idiots use to make a profit. It is to be returned by the end of the week, free of damage, prying eyes, or dirty hands. Have I made myself _clear_?" Mello coaxed another inch out of his stature, eyes glinting down at the disgustingly unkempt figures before him. Not five minutes into the interaction, and they had already proved incompetent and annoying. It would probably be in his favor to ditch the lot− or, better yet, kick them out of their own headquarters− but he was feeling merciful. Probably his new rosary's doing.

"Yeah... _boss_." The slur came out halfhearted and mocking. He nearly crushed his half eaten chocolate bar in annoyance, but settled for chucking it at the offender's head. Crusted eyelids blinked stupidly at him. Mello suppressed a snort. There were some major changes in store for these goons.

What would a respectable leader do?

The blonde stepped over an unconscious body to approach the window. The skin of his leg throbbed angrily, but he waved it away. Now wasn't the time. He concentrated on not breathing. Getting high off the remnants of his new production facility at this stage in the game simply would not do.

_First... relocation. We need a new base. It'll be safer, and hopefully, we can scrounge up the money to make it a little less shitty. Ha. We. They probably don't have any money left, from this little binge. It'll be me. I have to pay for a new place, and then another place for myself. They can find their own place to crash, and I sure as fuck am not sleeping with the drugs. Two apartments. I should have a little over £47,000 left. That might be enough._

_On second thought, a factory would be better. Four guys coming in and out of one small apartment all the time... no, if we're in the right part of town, it'll be fine. I might have to set up a poker table or something as a coverup. The factory can come later, once this has expanded.  
><em>

"You." He inclined his head to indicate one of the more coherent men. "Find another place. I want an address by morning."

"'uh hell? Who d'you think you are, barging in here like−" A swift kick to the face silenced him effectively.

"I'm Mello. Learn the name, fuckwad."

"'esus, man, go easy. Expectin' us to take orders from some kid dressed like Cat Woman. It ain't right."

Mello paused to consider the situation. There was indeed a point to be had, but his box of fucks to be given out was running dangerously low, so he skimmed over the issue. "What's your name?"

"Dan."

"Daniel. Do you want this business to be successful?" _Best appeal to their self−interest. _

_…Cat Woman was never this appealing._

"I guess…"

"You either want to make money or not. If you want to live somewhere that isn't a complete _shithole_, then you're going to need my help. You're obviously short−handed, lacking funds, and without prestige. Would you say that's correct?" _I'd forgotten how frustrating non−Wammy's people could be. Am I going to have to fucking feed them everything?_

"Yeah."

"So you don't have anything to lose. How about this: if I fuck you over, you can kill me and be on your merry way. If I don't, then you have some extra cash to spend, a few more contacts to mooch off of, and a reputation to boot. Deal?" _Like I'd let him within three feet of any vital body parts._

Dan looked like he was trying to piece together a complex thought. Poor guy. "So all we gotta do is listen to you?"

Mello tapped his foot impatiently. "Do what I tell you without question, and in less than a year, this will be a smoothly run, high end drug cartel." His logic was difficult to argue with.

Dan's friend didn't appear to be convinced. "He's just a kid, Dan. A fucking teenager. I'm not taking orders from a child. I have half a mind to kill him right now−"

"'Yer being a pussy, Luke. See what happens. We weren't going to make it anyway." Daniel waved a thick hand dismissively. Mello raised his eyebrow when Lucas failed to reply. The hierarchy was already in place. Less work for him. "New place, y'said? Where?" Dan leaned back, sizing up the authority.

"Not Winchester. Find a different city. We need to blend in for now; once the preliminaries are over, we can go somewhere nice." Mello closed his eyes for a moment. Things were moving at breakneck pace. He'd have to sit and take inventory soon.

"We can go to Hull. I know a guy."

"Great. Set it up."

/

"...and your total is six hundred, three fifty four, twenty two." Mello swiped his card hastily. This was the second time in three days he'd visited this store− not good. They'd start to recognize him eventually. He made a mental note to have an underling do his shopping in the future.

The twisted smirk of victory took his lips hostage. He had _underlings_ now. As the new head of a crumbling dealership, his word was law. Never mind that they probably still didn't trust him; didn't hold an ounce of loyalty. He could work with that. The average man's loyalty was to money, anyway. He had money.

"Come again, miss!"

Mello plastered on a wide smile and left, donning the new gloves as soon as he was outside. They were pliable and warm− perfect for an illegal investigation. His thin fingers flexed of their own accord. Yes, these would do.

A quick glance at the sky told him it was time to meet up at the new HQ. Finally.

He strolled down the street, hair whipping around his face obnoxiously. Something had to be done about that. Mello briefly considered buying those ponytail maker thingies. He tried to imagine himself with a ponytail. A little too feminine, but then, it's not like he was all bulging muscles and testosterone. Besides, if things went well, his reputation would carry any physical appearance he so chose to exhibit. It was absently added to the list of "things to do when I'm not in danger of getting sniped by the competition".

Something small and white bumped into his leg. A rather prissy poodle sniffed the fabric of his pants and moved on. The owner was yapping away on her cell phone. Mello rolled his eyes, tightening the coat around his body. If Near was a dog...

Well, he'd hope Near got stuck with some bimbo like Paris Hilton. That would be a riot. Near-puppy, dressed in pink pajamas and covered in bows. He smiled. Making fun of the albino shed positive light on any situation.

_I wonder what Near's doing. Probably buying up all the Toys 'R Us's in England. Idiot_. _I'm sure he could justify it, too. "You see, owning a popular chain of such stores enables me..."_

Mello scoffed, and a few people looked at him. He jutted his chin back at them defiantly. Like they had any right to judge his sense of humor.

_While I'm wasting precious time thinking about it... what sets me apart from Near? I have feelings, for one. I express them bluntly and honestly. He's an android. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up being one of Wammy's inventions._

_He plays by the rules. A limitation, as far as I can see. He'll have fewer opportunities, fewer ways to get what he's after, if morals keep blocking the picture. I don't give a fuck. I'm probably already going to hell for swearing too much. What's a few more strikes against me?_

_He utilizes pure logic. I'm more creative. I try, consistently, to expand the hollows of my mind, so I have a better chance of understanding the world as it−_

_Why is my head filled with poetry all the time? Doesn't angst have an off switch? My brain wasn't built to handle all this depressing philosophy, and it's not going to help one bit. Fuck. Maybe that works against me. He's boring, but he gets shit done. If there's a way to keep my thoughts on task and base any suspicions on hard evidence, I'd be better off. I might actually have to build on some of his traits. At least he won't be expecting that._

_Near doesn't let things get to him. If I'm honest with myself, he has a strong ability to focus. I don't. Well, I do, but on the wrong things. It's always about being first. That's an essay in and of itself. Ah... too bad I left Wammy's before we got to do that huge autobiographical psychoanalysis paper... that would've been fun._

_Matt taught me how to hone my attention. I slip up occasionally, but I'm doing better, thanks to him. We'll say that's a work in progress. _

_The biggest difference._

_Near is like L. _

_They both believe in their cause, whatever it may be, and promote clean, pure justice. Is that the correct way to change the world? Will simply locking a serial killer in jail make society a better place? I don't think so, but they do. L did. Near is fighting against Kira because he wants Kira eliminated. I'm fighting against Kira because I have to beat Near, not because I want criminals to stop dying. I kind of agree with Kira's ideas. L sacrificed his life for justice− justice for the sake of justice− but it was a useless gesture, in the long run. Kira is scrubbing away the scum of society as every day passes. He's doing it illegally, of course, but it's working. _

_Would I be helping Kira, if I hadn't been at Wammy's? _

It was an interesting thought. Mello certainly didn't give a fuck about the horrible people who met their "untimely" demise, so it wasn't like he'd be opposed to the idea. It took a few minutes of contemplation before he shook his head. Pretending to be God was sacrilege. Kira was a sinner himself, no matter what he did for the world._  
><em>

_Back on topic. If I catch Kira, does that mean I'll be responsible for the criminal whiplash that will inevitably follow?_

He exhaled tiredly. Angst obviously _didn't_ have an off switch. At this rate, he'd never get anything done. Time to wrap this sob story up.

_I'm willing to go through the menial tasks required to build a successful underground empire. If it takes months, years, even− I'll do it. I'll have unlimited resources at my disposal, I will run the black market, I will defeat Near, capture Kira, and bring malfeasances bubbling back to the surface of public matters. I can die knowing... knowing what? I won? I won._

He approached the curb and set his bags down, checking the time. Almost noon. A little early, still. Traffic would balance it out. His gloved hand waved around lazily, and a taxi pulled up. He leaned in the open window.

"Can you get me to Hull?"

"Sure, but it'll be a good half hour drive. You got the money?"

Mello let himself into the taxi and sprawled out over the backseat with a flourish. The driver got the hint and pulled away from the curb. Hopefully, this would be the last time public transportation was ever necessary. There would be plenty of apartments in Hull, all cheap, so he wouldn't have to go flashing his face around too much. This small comfort pacified his thoughts, and he stared through the foggy glass at the sky. Cold, grey clouds obscured the cheerful blue he so desired to see. There was always a part of him insisting if things were sunnier outside, they'd get better inside, too. Maybe in a few years he could leave England's atrocious weather for something more tropical. How fun would it be to live in Fiji?

What seemed only moments later, he was swiping his card again and crunching through snowy gravel. Hull was, if he remembered, one of the worst places to live in England- it was estimated around sixty (reported) crimes occurred each day- and for that reason, many of the buildings were in horrible shape. No one wanted to bother to fix things up if there would be no new inhabitants. Ironic, really. If the city decided to fix things up, it would probably bring in more people.

He loosened the grip on his bag and studied the complex. It wasn't _bad_. There were only a few damages to the outside of the building; otherwise, it seemed livable. This was temporary anyway. The neighborhood was quiet, small, private. He smiled to himself. Not for long.

There was a small gazebo to the south. Mello made himself comfortable under the wooden roof, being careful with his injured leg, and waited.

The men showed up one at a time. Each carried their own duffel bag of supplies. He was honestly surprised to see them. To put faith in an absolute stranger with Kira on the loose... kind of stupid. Their stupidity worked in his favor, though, so he wasn't complaining. They trooped inside to inspect the new "office" of operations. It was workable. Mello turned to the three men behind him.

"This is good. You all are on your own, outside of work. I'm not going to butt into your lives, and I expect the same. A few ground rules before we do anything else: Appearances. If you want this to be respectable and profitable, you need to look the part. Got that, assholes?" Mello snapped, tearing a chunk off his chocolate bar. "That means no ripped jeans, I don't want to see boxers, undershirts, beer stains, whatever the fuck you get around to on the weekend− you _will_ be clean. I will also be addressing you by your full first name. I don't care if it's an alias or not, but there will be no "Dan"s, "Joe"s, or "Bob"s. Understood?"

A few mute nods in response. He huffed angrily.

"You will not be high when you are working, and you will not use any of the merchandise for your own personal devices, unless you pay for it. Anyone caught thieving will be killed. This is business 101, people, I shouldn't have to be telling you this. You are no longer thugs, and you aren't dealing with needy teenage girls any longer. We're aiming big. I'm talking international trade, smuggling, dealing. Germany's looking good, and I speak the language, so expect to start there." _This might be over their head, actually. I can assume none of them have ever held any serious responsibilities before. Oh, Mihael, you have your work cut out for you... _

_But if this crazy plan succeeds..._

"Pay attention, try to avoid stupid questions, help each other out. Teamwork is essential. I'm not going to put you through any friendship building activities or that bullshit. This isn't kindergarten. But I expect a little common decency out of you all. Finally, if my chocolate stash is getting low, one of you better head to the store and replenish that shit, or heads will roll. Capisc?" He narrowed his eyes for emphasis.

"'aight." Daniel shrugged his wide shoulders. "'m in. I think we can trust this guy."

"Betrayal will not be tolerated. I have no problem putting a bullet in anyone's skull. Remember that." _I might need to get bullets first, though._ "Now. What do we have?"

/

The next few months blended together in a haze of strawberries and metal. Mello often found himself out doing the grunt work, because some situations required an intelligent finesse that his comrades just didn't have. He didn't mind, though. It was all in the name of justice.

/

_Justice is a bunch of bullshit_, Mello thought as he flicked through the papers. One of Daniel's friends had been murdered just a few hours earlier at the hands of his business partner. Was it uncool to be loyal, these days? Jesus.

He slipped his gloves off and recited the Hail Mary before continuing to read.

The friend, Kai, had done nothing wrong. No plans to backstab or blackmail, no side affairs with other companies, no suspicious phone calls or emails, no history with law enforcement at all. He was innocent, as far as Mello was concerned. Innocent, and killed for no reason.

Mello chewed the inside of his cheek. There _had_ to be a reason. To murder, especially publicly, was a dangerous thing to do. Murder made waves. Like now. Daniel was fuming in the other room. Mello doubted he'd actually do anything, but there were some people who probably would. So what was the point? Why kill your business partner without reason when there would be a mob after you for revenge?

"Daniel, get me everything you know about this guy." He called over his shoulder.

Their little project had grown quite a bit in the past few months. Several men had been recruited, and the work was divided up nicely. There was always free time for private investigations.

The blonde found himself buried in paper by the end of the night. Case file after case file, he scoured the information and mentally filed it away. Two hours in, he decided something should be done.

A clear pattern trickled through the man's past. Eleven documented murders, nineteen counts of violence, eight rapes, and an endless list of fraud- all without repercussion. His rep was apparently strong enough to handle this sort of thing. Mello growled under his breath. These were the type of people Kira killed, and yet there he was, still alive. Kira obviously wasn't a God, no matter how much he bragged about it. God wouldn't let a monster like this exist.

What really bothered Mello, though, was the complete lack of secrecy. All these crimes had been committed, and everyone _knew_. This man wasn't in hiding. Well, he was probably hiding in plain sight. The records were too easy to obtain.

_He hasn't been killed, so he hasn't been on the news or anything. No one knows his face. Rather, no one is willing to rat him out. Fine. I'll track this bastard down and dispose of him myself. He's probably in the Mafia. I hope he's in the Mafia. One foot in the door, and I'm good to go._

Mello cocked his head to the side. Near would have also decided to put an end to the useless shenanigans of an insecure Mafia boss, but for entirely different reasons.

_...my reasoning is clearly superior._

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry this is late ;w; I finished it Sunday, looked over it, and had one of those "the fuck is this shit" moments. Scrapped it and rewrote the whole thing <em>twice<em>. ._. I sped over the proofreading because being late bothers me, so if you spot any errors, let me know. ^^' Anypoodles, hope everyone's New Year's was awesome :D  
><strong>

**(any hairdressing fans get the chapter title reference?)  
><strong>


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